Tuesday, February 13, 2007

The Tree

The leaves in the old tree blow gently in the breeze,
As the clouds roam overhead and shadow us below,
The limbs bend gracefully as the hot sun peaks through,
The old tree has many stories to tell as its age begins to show.

A young boy runs and gallops as he sees the swing sway,
The grey squirrels hear him coming and wave their tails in style,
Birds flutter through the mighty limbs as they escape,
But the boy gives little attention as he runs with a smile.

The tree doesn’t mind the weight of the boy as he flies through the air,
He has seen many years of children enjoying the shade for play,
And then as the years went by the old tree saw each child as they grew,
Only to return home with books for study as under the tree they lay.

Time has taken its toll on the tree as the limbs and trunk show age,
The old tree doesn’t realize a difference inside was well under way,
For a tree’s heart doesn’t lie in the center but rather in the shell,
So it cannot know when things are changing at the end of the day.

Then one day he felt it, a limb was too heavy to stay in place,
This has not happened before. Only wind could do such a thing.
It was frightening for the old tree to feel that change was about to come,
He couldn’t bear the thought of not being there to hold the rope swing.

But time changes everything and life proceeds without slowing,
The day for the tree’s journey was just beyond the setting sun,
He had enough time to bid farewell to the squirrels and friends,
But not seeing the children made him feel more work needed done.

Today a huge and mighty stump marks the place where the tree stood,
It is a memorial to the animals and children who sought sanctuary there,
If you sit and listen the stump has a story to tell for each visitor,
So sit a moment, hear the story, remember the tree and the love it did bare.

Friday, April 26, 2002


A proud Southern sharecropper raised on the land,
A Southern Democrat who took his own stand.

Married his sweetheart, then settled on a farm,
Five children to raise and keep from life's harm.

He worked out of town for many a' day,
The mortgage for the farm took all his pay.

Each child took their turn in the daily work,
Caring for the animals, turning the dirt.

Bushells of cotton they each must pick,
Nothing for play but a rock or a stick.

Milking the cow and baking cornbread,
The chores must be done before going to bed.

When the work was all done towards the evening of life,
He looked all around and saw pay for his strife.

Five children were raised and now they're all gone,
Grandchildren to raise in a life of their own.

Proud of what they had done, for they did their best,
He now could sit back and take a long rest.

Friday, April 19, 2002


It was Saturday morning,
The sun ready to rise,
Dad and I were hunting,
Scanning the trees with our eyes.

The Squirrels were all jumping,
To get their morning meal,
And the light was just perfect,
Dad had spied one to kill.

Well I tried to sit quietly,
Then I looked at my boots,
There I saw a small quiver,
I saw it in the roots.

A small brown snake,
Laying pretty as can be,
His head was striking,
His tongue stuck out at me.

I said "Dad, a snake!
Please chase it away,"
Dad said "Hush son,"
I see a squirrel in the light of the day.

I yelled "Dad a rattle snake,"
Is biting at me,"
"Son, I have told you,
It's a squirrel that I see."

Finally tired of my crying,
Dad looked at my shoe,
He pulled me back and yelled,
"That thing's striking at you."

"It's no rattle snake,"
Dad said, "But you're right,
It's a baby copperhead,
And that thing does bite."

Dad reach for a stick,
And struck the snake's head,
Then we lifted the snake,
Sure 'nough, it was dead.

Well from then on hunting,
Dad told me what he'd do,
"If you see something wrong,
Tell me and I'll listen to you."