The Son
1875-1950
I heard an old farm-wife,
Selling some barley,
Mingle her life with life
And the name "Charley".
Saying, "The crop's all in,
We're about through now;
Long nights will soon begin,
We're just us two now.
Twelve bushels at sixty cents,
It's all I carried --
He sickened making fence;
He was to be married --
It feels like frost was near --
His hair was curly.
The spring was late that year,
But the harvest early."
DayPoems Poem No. 1438
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/1438.html">The Son by Ridgely Torrence</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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