Please tell me your tale of woe,
On this bright and sunny day,
Of how you came to lie,
On the shoulder of the highway.
You lie there, as cars zip past,
As quickly, as if to fly,
With dust, a swirl, as they pass.
Did somebody, cast you out,
As not quite fit to wear,
Or if you were about,
To be thrown, into the air?

Darkening clouds appear in the West.
Rolled up like black pillows.

No central heat,
no central air.
Just an oil heater
in the living room,
that was only on
if there was company.
The living space
was in the kitchen
where the huge wood
stove was sitting.
The first chore,
in the morning,
was to remove the lid
with a tool,
put in paper
and wood, for fuel.
Touch the paper
with a match,
replace the lid,
open the draft
and soon the heat
was coming fast.
The stove was iron
with a big oven,
where pies and cakes
would be forth coming.
Some pots on the rear
flat top of the stove,
kept items quite warm,
almost all the day.
Potatoes, vegetables
some meat, would
go into those pots
to cook away,
until dinner time.
That's something I
recall, from long ago,
when life was simple
as we listened
to the radio.

I sit here in the chair
with my hands to my head.
I wonder why, in this land
that fate brought pain to thee.
I relish every moment,
we have in this, our life
and dread the day that it is gone,
for you are my inspiration
of what I now do.
What will I be without you?