The stories she could tell, I see them through my eyes,
Visions of what had been, lost days gone by.
Drifting back, memories pass her lips,
She sits in thought pressing together her fingertips.
She remembers little Johnny only stood this tall,
She holds out her hand and touches so far up the wall.
Or maybe a little taller it was hard for her to remember,
All bundle up in a sweater and boots, though it was only September.
“Cold that year. Snow lay heavily on the ground; such peace,
As the golden moon lit the sky more flakes released.
Deeper and deeper even the cows took to the barn to feed,
Wading through the heavy snow rubber boats, soaked well passed the knees.”
“Johnny come back, why you ain’t no bigger than a mite,
The wind went ta howling blowin out the lantern light.”
“Pa, Pa you best hurry to catch little Johnny for I fear he will lose his way,
Even though feedin was his job he should not do it on a day like today.”
Like a flash Pa grabbed a lantern and his old wool coat,
Confounded boy could a waited. No more sense than that old goat.
Ya see Johnny took his chore serious, and the animals were his pride,
He took well care of the critters on up till the day he died.”
“In the barn Pa found him a sittin on the hay a singin,
Cows movin back and forth their cow bells a ringin.
A tune he struck up on a harmonica from his shirt,
Hands so cold, he dropped it, landing it in the dirt.”
Pa shook his head and said not nary a word, to his son,
He would come in when he was good and done.
Years went by and Johnny went to Nashville became a star,
And it all started on a cold, snowy night, in a critter filled barn.
© Cynthia Clark