A Simple Path
We'd spend our Sundays at my granddad's farm
near Bushy Fork, just north of Hurdle's Mill.
It had that Rockwell kind of country charm,
where pies sat cooling on the window sill,
and grandma served fried chicken, rolls, and corn
a room away from where my dad was born.
In digging up potatoes in a field,
tobacco curing like a junior farmer,
assisting with the season’s meager yield,
and donning overalls (like denim armor),
I learned the benefits of honest labor,
dirt on the hands, and helping out a neighbor.
But more than that, I learned that innocence
is lost too soon for us, especially
when principles applied as common sense
are not as common as they used to be.
It seems the wisdom of the simple man
recalls the strength of those whose lives began
behind the straight line of a churning plow,
with earth below and spotless skies above.
Such weathered folk are able to endow
the tenets of a life that one can love
by teaching friends and foes and family
how not to complicate simplicity.