Writing words, about all of the dread
That tries to control, my confused head.
On this occasion, I'm easily led
For it is easier done, then said.

I try to tell you
of what I do,
to better your life
as I listen to
the girl that I married;
one that I adore.
Please let her live
many years more.

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.