Bull headed stubborn, never conquered, he...
My Father.
A hearty laugh, with anger never far away;
A choking voice; emotions had their way
With him, and when he sang alone,
Heading for the barn, he sang Handel
So we heard him clear in every valley.
When only grass and leaves were "Green,"
He saved everything he thought might be of use:
Red tape from old banana sales,
("Never know when tape will come in handy!")
Bagging string wrapped on a stick,
("You can't have enough string!")
Rusty wire in spools from some old fence,
("Carry some with you for emergencies.")
Dirtied engine oil in metal barrels,
(To soak wood posts and make them last),
Scrap iron by the ton,
("Boys, weld these into fences!")
Semi loads of **** seed screenings,
("Cheap and adds protein to the feed!" )
Even burned out light bulbs...
(He never gave me a good reason;
One bulb's enough to **** a sock.)
"Never know when this may come in handy!"
His constant motto.
A complicated man I never could unravel,
Honest to an inch, sometimes, yet shrewd to miser-dom,
Then crafty in some deal that left me blushing,
Only to turn around and sacrifice to see a neighbor thrive.
Drove sad old cars no one would want,
And made us work for most things that we sought,
Then gave such gifts to others
As would stun my mind to thought.
I have him by a hundred pounds,
Am taller by a head,
But deep inside, I am convinced
I'll never measure up in height or depth.
I'm not sure that I want to.