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Home » Poetry » Snell
G.W. "Bill" Snell, continued.

Down a Country Lane

I traveled down a country lane today,
It was hot, rough and dusty all the way.

As I passed a tired old house along that route,
I saw an old man on the porch, and thought I heard him shout.

Slowing down, I stopped, and backed a little way,
Wondering what the old man on the porch had to say.

I thought he might be sick, or somehow need my help.
As I backed toward the house, his old dog let out a yelp.

He seemed to be so glad that someone finally stopped,
He barked and wagged his tail, and by the old man flopped.

I left my car, and wound my way up that unused walk,
Old dog looked at his master, as if to say, "He's here now, talk!"

And that old fellow talked a lot, he had so much to say,
Said he lived here with old dog, not many passed this way.

He said he'd lost his wife, and only child at birth.
It had taken all his strength, to scratch a livin' from the earth.

He'd spent a hitch, when twenty-one, in Uncle Sam's Brigade,
World War Two had tested him, and left him unafraid.

He knew that he could handle most things that came along,
About this time he met the girl, that made his life a song.

They fell in love, and married, both made a solemn vow,
That they would always be there, for each other, then and now.

They bought an eighty-acre farm along that country lane,
And settled down to make a life, John and Mary Jane.

The G.I. Bill helped a lot, his farmer dreams came true.
Down that lane, with sun and rain, their crops all grew and grew.

They prospered, he and Mary Jane, worked hard, they were a team.
They had it all, except one thing, a child was in their dream.

They tried for years, and late in life, she finally did conceive,
Had they known the consequence, but they were both naïve.

They just knew they could manage, and nothing could go wrong.
But childbearing, late in life, ended their sweet song.

For years now, he'd been alone, the fire died in his life,
The two things he yearned for, his baby and his wife.

He asked and got permission to let them rest here on the farm.
Where he could visit every day, and keep them safe from harm.

And so his life went sadly on, he carried high her torch,
And that's the way he grew old, just sitting on the porch.

He had no other family, and no one ever came.
He talked to his old dog a lot, but that's just not the same.

He felt the need to tell someone, how lonely he had been,
Since losing wife and baby, he was the loneliest of men.

That's why old dog, in old dog wisdom, thought that he might help.
That's why he ran the country lane, and at each car he'd yelp.

The old man said, when I drove by, old dog ran to the lane,
Just like he did at every car, but every time in vain.

But this time, the old man thought, old dog was in harm's way.
And so he yelled when I drove by, and told old dog to "stay!"

That's why I stopped, I thought the man, might just be in need,
And sure enough, I was right, old dog did his good deed.

He finally got a car to stop, that drove that dusty lane,
He knew the old man had a need, to talk away his pain.

If he ran fast, toward the car old John would holler "stay!"
And that's the reason that I stopped, I thought he hollered, "hey!"

Every time I get the chance, I drive that country lane,
And stop, and let my old friend John, talk 'bout Mary Jane.

That old dog greets me, with a wagging tail and yelp,
And I was always thankful that I stopped and offered help.

Now, old dog and dear old John look forward to my visit,
That's not a lot to ask of life, really, now is it?



Copyright © G.W. Snell 2003

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From Young to Old, From Green to Gold

From very young to very old
The transition's painless I am told
I’m not so brash, I'm not so bold
I'm really new at getting old
I'm not sure I like the pace
At times I think I've lost the race
But then I stop and look around
And all my friends are slowing down
We've settled in, we're doing well
Can take the time to sit a spell
Enjoy thinking of the past
Can't help wondering how long t'will last
Perhaps a year or maybe ten
Don't count the days, just live till then
Be a little bold and brash
Live it up until you crash
For then you've got to lay real still
You've no choice, next stop boot hill!



Copyright © G.W. Snell 2003

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