A wee boy perched upon a fence of logs--
Rosy cheeks aglow with good-morning air,
Studying a shiny black machine;
Pondering the beast and how it came there.
He'd come awake at voices' hum,
Just like most every day,
Til Dad's deep tones bade him "Come,
Bring in your kindlin', right away!"
For he'd forgot his evening chore~~
To bring the sticks for morning fire
He scurried, quick, and hurried more
He knew the result to be quite dire.
Soon the fire was blazing and
Mama stood right by
The bacon sassed and frizzled
new eggs began to fry
The thick hot scent of coffee
soon warmed the whole wide room
Big sister Lacy cleared and dusted--
Thelma wielded the broom.
He ran quick up the ladder
To the children's beds above
To wrestle with his blankets
That Mom had made with love.
The new man came to breakfast
He raved how good the taste
Bobby didn't know him yet
He seemed to speak with haste.
The table cleared, the kids left then
To walk the way to school
But Bobby was the youngest, stayed
And sent outside--the mountain air was cool.
He spied it then, that noble beast
Round tires resting on the ground
So shiny with a sheen of dust
It didn't make a sound.
He saw the round eyes look at him
But no, they stared ahead
He climbed the logs and sat the fence
Observed from there instead.
His cheeks had turned quite ruddy
His knees began to shiver
The man came out and turned the crank
It coughed, then caught. The metal thing
The man called it a Fliver.
His long coat blowing, he climbed in
That noisy beast with joy
He waved to Mama and Dad, and then
He waved to that little boy.
Away he went, him and the beast
And dust around them swirled--
Bobby was awed, he sat there stunned
A first glimpse of the World.
A rancher's son, he'd known that work
Was all the life to be
But visions of a future filled
That small head, now, with glee.
He'd ride a beast like that one;
He'd learn the hows and whys
When it got broken or worn out,
he'd fix it midst the cries.
He's master all the workin's
He'd mend the paints and kind
Why, he'd become a flivver fixer
The ranch work left behind.
The world's a place of wonder
And through the many years
Bob worked as a mechanic, too
Held many jobs with cheer.
Jack of all trades, but unlike some
He mastered every one
Painter, Musician, Doctor, Pilot
No boundaries 'neath the sun.
A rancher's son he started
He outrun the boring job
He was my dad, my hero
That little boy named Bob.
Written for Bob Stocks
by JLurell Bailey
26 Jul 2015
(Dad would have been 97 this day, this year)
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