Two fields over from the great oak once
You would find black cattle grazing. Bet
Cows were on that patch a hundred years.
But no more. Farmer’s son signed a deed.  

House plans tucked under his arm, bride
Not far behind, he walked north and south
Then east and west, moved the manger,
It had almost grown roots, marked fence row.
 
Two chains here, three chains that way,
Intense and excited with the prospects.
She thought of rooms for two kids,
A basement for canned goods and rainy play.  

Deep front yard, big enough for sheep,
But for now tree planting priority one.
Lawn so big, he had to buy a tractor to
Mow. Look up at it as you drive by.  

Big trees, bluegrass green, strong fences,
And at the top, a deep red house seems
To have snuggled in where once the manger
Fed cattle and hay was baled twice a year.  

For thirty five, almost thirty six years on the
Crest of that rise, the son grew his family,
Farmed his land, built a business never thinking
Life would turn and he would pack and leave.  

Death does that to a family. Dad gone, heart
Falters, hip joints do a number and time comes
To move to town, even though he swore not.
Does no good to swear, life deals stern hands.
Winning takes looking ahead, deuces wild.