Excerpt from KotaPress Poetry Anthology Volume 3, 2003
A Poet's Repose
Mama's wrinkled hands showed spots of aging.
Her stringy hair saw too much sun and wind.
Dad's weather-beaten face forced a half-smile.
Tears filled their eyes watching me round the bend.
"Twas the last time I saw my dad and mom.
I always meant to come back home some day,
But I chased the hidden dreams of my heart
And, Lord, they never led me back this way.
Oh there were letters now and then and cards
Marking holidays. The folks didn't find
Time enough from working this old farm
To venture much beyond the county line.
Why after all these years have I come back?
There's no one left who knew me but Old Sam.
He remembers me and my pony well.
He knows better than I, just who I am.
I'm not at loss for words; words are my tools,
My way of life, my work, my existence.
Out here on Bishop Hill I need no words.
The past talks. I offer no resistance.
Into the wooded hills the last rays fade.
The afterglow stirs memories long passed.
Dozing off I dream of those childhood days.
Beneath these starry skies, I'm home at last.
Vera was born in Big Springs, Texas and has been writing “Country
Poetry” for fifty years. She is a widow, a mother, and a farmer.
She is active in Stillwater Writers, where she serves as secretary.