He Finally Made It Home (sequel to 'Tomorrow I'll Be Home')

He Finally Made It Home The vagrant breeze does stir his hair- That's now grown thin and gray. Caressing lines which crease his face... As though to wipe away... The hardship, grief, and worry- Which carved each crevice deep... Why! He looks ten years younger- As if he were asleep. His mattress is the Texas clay- For which he slaved for years. His bedspread is the new spring grass Oft watered by his tears. And on his feet, his Justin boots- They used to be his pride... It's only fitting, I suppose- He wore them when he died. And in his hand? Case-hardened steel- He wore upon his hip... He kept it rolled up in a trunk- Until this final trip. Concession to his loving wife... Who'd proceeded him in death- "Please, promise, Jack"? she whispered- That was her final breath. Last night up on the mesa- As he stood beside the graves... Of all but one of those he loved, He lay beyond the waves... He'd looked back down the trail of years, As he had tamed the land. With brute hard work, he'd claimed the place And built a mighty brand. He'd faced Indians, and rustlers- And killers in the street... He'd never bowed, nor was he cowed Each challenge he did meet. Till the crooked politicians- Up in Austin, took a hand... And with ink pens, and with law books They finally took his land. He met them at the main gate... He said, "That's far enough- There's not a man with sand to stand- I've come to call your bluff". Five rifles at one hundred yards- Against one forty-four... The rifles spoke, the silence broke... Jack Ballard was no more. It almost seems an eerie hush Has fallen... sweet, serene- His lips look like they're smiling... As if some how he's seen- A light in ranch house window- After riding long, alone... Though to us hid, I believe he did- He finally made it home. Written January 22nd, 2002 © on Jan 22 2002 05:08 AM PST, John R. Yaws   0 • 10