One Old Farmer-With No Name

. He was a maverick on a country lane A bit peculiar, but not ashamed He never said much to make us stare But, quietly lived with a certain air His story, kept private, known by a few Not much to say, but he paid all his dues We are the neighbors who lived down the lane We heard all his stories again and again He knew what the sun had intended to do With curly white clouds, and why rims of blue His talk of Nebraska, and horses and grain Discussed all the crops, and the darn lack of rain We had seen him many a sun-drenched day Standing in the field with the horizon to gaze Perhaps he dreamed of the prairie skies With secret story and with knowing eyes Lightly as leaves cling, the quick years clung About his shoulders, till his songs were sung Kept to himself for many a year ...but today, his story has ended here There is left behind such sad disbelief... Surprised, and unexpected,..immense is our grief For what had begun eighty years ago There is still so much we will never know Who was the man who had no name? He paid his dues, but no one knew Exiled he was, but never his words Words "fell to the soul...like a the morning dew --------------------------------------