The Story of Sara Beth Swan
In nineteen eighty-three, mid-October skies,
A baby was born with violet-brown eyes.
In Lodi, California, her first little cry,
To George Eliot Swan and Cherie Anne Swank nearby.
She was the fifth child — oh, what a sight!
A house full of laughter from morning to night.
When they brought her home, such a squeeze it had been—
Her dad laughed and called her his little sardine!
They loved her so dearly, both mother and dad,
And taught her of Jesus, the joy to be had.
But love can be tricky, and hearts sometimes part—
So when she was two, life made a new start.
Her mom moved to Provo, to start life anew,
While Dad stayed in California, with skies bright and blue.
Mom remarried, then married again—
Three husbands, three boys — new family, new friends.
But the divorce split up their children and home,
And Sara Beth Swan often felt alone.
She didn’t grow up with all siblings in one place,
And still today, their closeness she can’t fully embrace.
She sees the damage the divorce left behind,
And how it changed her heart, reshaping her mind.
Now Sara Beth Swan, she was clever and bright,
With dark flowing hair and freckles just right.
Tall and so slender, with eyes dark as night,
Some even called them violet in light!
She looked like her sister, her Heather so near,
Just sixteen months older — they’d both disappear!
Two peas in a pod, so the neighbors would grin,
“Twins!” they would whisper — and both girls would spin.
Sara loved walking as stars filled the skies,
Counting night-birds with wonder-filled eyes.
She’d dress up for Halloween — oh, what delight!
The magic of costumes, the thrill of the night.
She painted her lips with iris bloom blue,
Pretending and playing, as dreamers will do.
Sometimes she’d wander behind local stores,
Finding hidden treasures from old dusty drawers.
From ribbons to buttons, to dolls with one shoe,
She’d clean them, fix them, and make them like new!
Her hands turned the simplest scraps into art—
She made beauty from nothing, straight out of her heart.
She grew and she grew, through sunshine and rain,
Through laughter and learning, through joy and through pain.
She’d stay with her mom through the school-time days,
Then visit her dad for the holidays.
By fourth grade, the seasons had shifted again,
She lived with her dad through the school-year then.
She made many friends, though quiet and shy,
Too timid to answer when the phone rang nearby.
But oh, she could run — like the wind through the trees!
And draw lovely pictures with effort and ease.
She built and created from whatever she had,
Her thrift turned to magic — and that made her glad.
So here’s to young Sara, brave-hearted and true,
With violet-dark eyes and a spirit that grew.
Though life’s broken pieces left marks on her way,
Love, hope, and faith helped her light every day.
