Life on the small family farm was simple.

Grampie yelled at Mom all day,
cursed at her really. Spit his chew tobacco
in a coffee can, and then went his way.

He was crazy, my father's father,
although not. My Dad was illegitimate,
the result of his mother's liaison
with the gentleman farmer,
for whom she worked and then borne.

Grateful for that, truth be told,
to not be the seed of Grampie,
the crazy man, although the truth
of it was not early on known.

As he lie dying, in my mother's care,
she told me later that he rose up and
said, Barbara, it is so beautiful there!

Today, I laugh at my past!
If only I had understood way back,
that not a single human today,
has lived a life without a gasp.

I was eight when he passed,
and dreamed of him showing me
a field of flowers. He was young
in the dream, and he gave me a bombast!