1/27/2015

Ode to Uncle Ellis

Tall are the pines,
They sway to summer winds,
Storms surely are brewing out on the gulf,
Thou, these oxen still have to carry,
Drive them to the tram,
Carried to the Sabine, to mill,
Pulling the cypress that has fallen,
Sawn by two half bred men,
Suriving off the land,
The only thing to do.




 T'is but the evening of the day,
Make it back to the farm, to stay,
Put the oxen in the yard,
Till tomorows new day,

Coming thru the pines,
Smell of the foods arises,
Mae Whitman kitchen pleases,
These are the joy of this life.


 Sky is starting to cloud up,
Rain is starting to fall,
Chances it will stay,
But to be about the comfort,
Of home fires, comfort of life,
Here in the Sabine Piney.. ©

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