By Donna Penley
His wife passed away in ‘73, so he struggles alone on th’ farm;
Learns to do the things she had done - like cook, an’ clean an’ iron.
He even learns to make pickles, fills his pantry from th’ vegetable patch;
He grins to himself as he hears ladies say that ‘he’d
make a wonderful “catch“!
Oh, he still sees to his cattle, his crops an’ the hay,
still plows with th’ ol’ 9N ;
It still runs as good as it did years ago -- he thinks
it’s a lot like him.
His sons and daughters keep tabs on him -- he thinks
they treat him like a kid;
But, their love for their daddy shines on strong, as his
and their Mam’a’s did.
He knows that one day he’ll have to leave, but ‘till
then, he ain’t givin’ in ;
He plows an’ sows an’ tends them ol’ cows -- to give
up would be a sin!
On Saturdays he’ll go into town, to the
Center to play him some cards;
An’ if Bessie or Sue wants to cook for him, he sure
won’t break their hearts.
But, this thought’s always there, in th’ back of his mind -- he knows that she’s waitin’ for him;
To cross over that plain to be with her again, when his light on this earth has dimmed.
But until that time comes, he’ll do his best to make good
use of his time --
‘Till th’ angel beckons an’ takes his hand, an’ leads
him over that line.
Donna Penley is a Cowgirl Poet with deep Kansas roots who has been writing cowboy poetry for over twenty five years. She is a real Cowgirl and an ex-barrel racer.
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