Here's a poem Mom wrote for him in 1978:
Watching Dad Irrigate
My daddy is a dancer, a mover, a scrambler
He’s light on his feet, he’s a basketball boy
He’s a fencer, a farmer, a friend to his children
He’s a tablecloth artist, a giver of joy.
He’s (Irish) Croatian from Montana’s Rockies
He’s a grower of grain; he’s a clown for the Lord
He a life-giving, life-loving whistling gypsy
He’s a riverboat gambler with cattle on board.
He’s a dreamer, a seeker, a wit, and a worker
He’s a friend to my mama, his sweetheart and wife
He’s a deep thinker, a teacher, a learner
He’s human as human, and lovely as life.
1 comment:
well, now we know where we got your rhythm and rhyme!
yer mamma's poem got me choked up, thinking about what a lovely man yer gramp's was and how much all who love him must miss him
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