Unlike the ragtag farms of the area, the farm

Of Lewis and Dorothy Wright is well-kept

The lay of the land complements its purpose

It is prairie, gently rolling and open

Whereas the surrounding farms

Are still well and truly hill-country

That is—wooded, rocky, hard-scrabble

The nearest town, Cross Timbers

Is testament to the nature of the place

It means—where forest and prairie meet

~

The Wright's fields are neatly mown for hay

The lawn is square and tidy

The Angus cattle equally well-kept

Straight of back, clear of eye

Which speaks of their stewardship

And the consistency of their effort over time

The clapboard house and oak-planked out-buildings

Are simple of design, painted white

And well-maintained. Altogether the farm

Displays unprepossessing charm

~

Lewis Wright passed. His widow hires out

The haying, the feeding, the mowing

She keeps the garden and flower beds thriving

To all appearances little has changed

~

A storm took down one-half

Of the round-crowned ornamental tree

They had planted eight-twelfths of a century ago

She had the remainder trimmed

In hopes of salvage, but it came down

Only a year or two ago. There is no hint of it

Not even a rise in the plane of grass

To belie what is now absent

~

I pass her house and farm occasionally

I did so yesterday. I thought how well-suited

The land and the occupants were for one another

I saw no sign of fatigue or flagging

No hint that Mrs. Wright has given an inch

To time or reality—the lawn was immaculate

The structures as white as ever, the fields mown

The fences straight and taut, the cattle grazing

~

Over the decades, as I've driven by

I have truly appreciated what I've seen

It is no small thing to build a life, do it well

And do it simply for the love of it

In my world, where such care is rare

It is worth noting. This is what I've seen

This is what I know of it, not everything

But impressions seen in passing