She walks with slow and measured tread,

Her joints are worn and cause her dread;

She is the last leaf on the branch,

For all her friends are long since dead.

 

Her primal breath was on this ranch,

To leave it would her heart sore wrench;

It’s here she’s lived and here she’ll die,

For it is here that she’s entrenched.

 

She’s had no need for fame to vie,

For far-off lands she heaves no sigh;

She’s content here and happy now,

To let the world just pass her by.

 

She and the woman share a vow,

The woman and the old red cow;

It’s here they were with life endowed,

It’s here they will by death be bowed.

 

 

To Audrey

who loves poetry

for her 91^st birthday

27 March 2010

by James E. Kerns

(not given)