134. A Kansas Farmwife’s Snow Song

Winter weary and all hunkered down, here

with the children and dog this gray day,

how could it seem so far, when you’re a mere

quarter section of snowdrifts away.

 

Broke the ice off the watering trough, dear,

this morning and twice more through the day,

stoked the fire with hedge wood you cut a mere

quarter section of snowdrifts away.

 

I stared out the window and pondered,

how the snowdrifts don’t matter so much.

If it were summer’s fields you wandered

I’d still miss your voice and your touch.

 

At last the end of fence mending is near,

we are about to end this cold day.

Your day’s work is done and now you’re a mere

quarter section of snowdrifts away.

— Roy J. Beckemeyer

(Published in the 2011 Edition of the Kansas Authors Club Yearbook; Won 1^st place in the Poet’s Choice category of the 2010 Kansas Authors Club Poetry Contest.)

Roy J. Beckemeyer, a retired aeronautical engineer from Wichita, studies fossils insects that lived in Kansas 250 million years ago, and edits two scientific journals. He has been writing poetry since he sent his first love poem to his high school sweetheart, Pat, now his wife of fifty years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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