Lake Granbury Living is proud to award the first ever LGL Art of Excellence Award to Miss Lydia Long. Lydia is 12 years old and a student at Lakeside Baptist Academy. The LGL Art of Excellence Award recognizes a student or students who showcase exemplary creativity and originality in an artistic field.




by Lydia Long


My walls have held history—their story.

Monks whisper their evening prayers,

and brick on brick build my stairs.

They kneel in humility to our dear Lord;

I’m proud to be their housing ward.

I want to mark their passionate heart;

I admire the leadership excised from morn till dark.

But alas, in stead of just sharing Christianity,

they show disrespect to the Native humanity.

They hurt the Native who settled my land,

and the Natives alike send many a warrior man.

The Monks leave a harsh legacy but do they know it?

Neigh, they fail to admit, they have dug themselves into a horrible pit.


My walls have held history—their story.

A mother Native creeps about;.

her young papoose begins to shout.

Before long he too will run about

with his Native friends; they will leap and shout!

But meaningful monks hush the child

and remind them how they ought to be mild.

The boy grows up, no longer a child.

He is big and wild with muscles piled.

He wants to run away from the monks

but at this thought his mother’s heart thumps.

If her son runs away, only to be found ,

the monks will make him in misery drown.

I remember the monks and the Indian lad;

how the monks brought him from his escape in chains—iron clad.

I feel ashamed as I remember the stick;

the once brave young boy, his back covered with many a lick.

My walls have held history—their story.

Though many a legacy I have seen,

yet nothing to make my heritage gleam.


My walls have held history—their story.


My life is over as the Natives leave along with the Monk…

or so it seems . . .until William Travis and his men within me bunk.

My life takes a turn, what an unexpected twist;

to this adventure I cannot resist!

Once home to the Spanish, I am only slightly dismayed

to learn they are now my enemies made.

Oh what a fright!

They fire their cannons every single night.

I’m bombarded but my walls stand in place;

I am a leader, never turning about face.

My walls have held history—their story.


I stand up high, completely tall

as Crocket himself climbs up my walls.

What a wild cat he is, manly and strong!

The hymn of victory is his song.

He plays to the Mexicans, “We are not the least bit afraid!”

Even great legends like Davy can make truth unswayed.

The men shiver, huddle, not knowing if they will survive the night.

I feel my proud walls shrinking to depths of unknown fright.

I remembered the monks’ reading of the Holy Book.

Their faith sustained though their lives unhooked.

I remembered them murmuring about joy coming in the morning.

A new perspective of life within me began warming.

Through twelve nights I held out strong;

I mourned the next evening because all my men were gone.

Only faithful Juan Seguin

returned to make their burying place clean.

My head turns

My soul spurns

My walls have held history—their story.