Darlin
These low hills are running with deer this morning,
they have come down to graze on the sweetest grass.
On the meadows buttercups have carpeted
the bottom land with sunshine.
In summer darlin used to bathe in that crick yonder.
Long gone now.
The years turn and the cabin gets more rickety,
but I ain't moving on.
I hunt a little,
once in a while go down to the 711store
in the small dusty town
for some vittles, to gas my old Chevy truck,
find the feller who sells fresh buds,
smoke a little on the porch.
Last night when the moon was full and so low
I swear a person would have thought
to touched it.
Watching the dusky tree-line
change the shape of the light,
I thought I saw darlin, walking up the hill
toward me.
I put the bruski down and wiped my eyes,
heart thumping,
but it was only a pretty white tailed doe
heading for home
and I sure wanted to follow.
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