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To cross him was ill advised;
No bigger a man on this earth ever lived.
Storyteller, hunter, fisherman and farmer,
known to all simply as Parmer.

His days were early, his nights late.
A poor farmer’s life his lonely fate.
Cows in green pastures, hogs in mud lots;
Chickens laying and cooking in pots.

He feared nothing, man nor animal.
But to his friends, he was most affable.
To me he was a mentor, most admired.
To stand in his shadow was to be inspired.

As a boy I followed him often,
To the fields to pick cotton,
To the woods to hunt with his dogs,
To the sloughs noodling logs.

His joy was late afternoons on a porch swing.
Afternoon breezes and watching sunsets was the thing.
Fireflies and crickets making presence known.
In the blink of an eye his life was gone.

Time and sickness took his health away.
Parmer became slow, old and gray.
One night in his armchair asleep all alone;
the reaper came and forever
   my mentor, my dear uncle was gone.

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