Читать книгу Woodsmoke - Wayne Caldwell - Страница 12

Ten years ago my sweet bride, Birdie,

Set up in the bed, said Lord have mercy …

Wake up, Posey … it’s my head …

Fell back, dead before she hit the pillow.

Gone before I waked enough to know

We’d never walk hand in hand again.

She won’t no bigger’n one of them squinch owls.

Her folks, teachers, everbody called her Birdie.

Shoot, I didn’t know her Christian name was Edith

Till we got a wedding license. We spent fifty fine years

In this old house together, sheltered by yonder ridge,

Heated by trusty cords of love and yellow locust.

Still miss her. Like a man with a sawed-off limb.

When I hear a yellowhammer or one of them wag-tail birds

Looking at me sideways. I’ll say Hey, Birdie, I’m doing good

For an old buzzard. But one of these first days

We’ll go walking again. She’ll flit off like that made her happy.

Might be nothing, but it’s a drab of hope for an old man.