February 2019
Note: My first job was working on a ranch in California. The owner's name was Jim and most days it was just the two of us working together. The other poem is about snow. Oh, and the love of my life.
Thistles
A summer hand at barely fifteen years.
The rancher likewise only eighty four;
a bow-legged five foot two, his Stetson worn.
Each day as he drove up I’d meet with his
kind “‘Mornin” nod and I’d reply the same.
We walked along the fence line through the grass,
He said “Do you see that?” I answered “Yes.”
“That’s a thistle.” I nodded once again.
Snowflakes
Her hair is filled with flakes of snow;
a frosty white among the black.
(To tell you what not many know,
the sunlight shows the truth. In fact,
her hair’s the darkest shade of red.)
She smiles at me, looking back,
with snowflakes resting on her head.
© 2019 Theodore Goodwin
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