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Recollections of Bob

Bob used to walk the roads near Amery,
offering his work in woods, on farm.
with his brother and small dog in their humble property.
though plain, he had an honest, rough hewn charm.
Muttin-puttin, Everett, and me.

Few in Lincoln knew his brother,Everett,
but Bob went out, met farmer, tradesman, clerk.
And those who knew Bob knew that they had met,
a man acknowledged. mostly for his work.
Muttin-puttin, Everett, and me

"Do you need any wood cut or repair?"
In halting speech, his helpful offer made.
He'd walked a dozen miles in getting there,
willing to work a day, modestly paid.
Muttin-puttin, Everett, and me.

With denim overalls, jacket, and rough boots,
his axe and wood tools carried at his side,
he'd do the day's work, each task execute,
only stay a night if earnestly was plied.
Muttin-puttin and Everett miss me.

Then home to brother, Everett, at night,
with Muttin-puttin wagging at the door,
Bob bringing home the bacon, a delight,
and life went on, replenished, as before.
Muttin-puttin, Everett and me.

A young husband, with work spread way too thin,
welcomed Bob, counting his wallet's supply.
To catch up the woodpile would bring a grin,
A good night's sleep, he'd suggest Bob to try.
Muttin-puttin, Everett would agree.

Bob, then, taught him a bit of cooking art,
making gravy with the drippings of the meat.
Smiles came later when he did his part,
giving Bob credit for the skillet feat.
Muttin-puttin, Everett, and thee.

In those days that knew neighbor's threshing crew,
Bob would sometimes help to build the stack..
When the day was through, the road home, he'd view
a day's work done, never one to slack.
Muttin-puttin, Everett home by gee.

Years passed, and, sadly, Everett passed on.
Bob said, "Only Muttin-puttin and me.
are in the house now," and the days soon gone,
the little dog passed on and no more ''we."
Muttin-puttin, Everett, gone from me.

The house was lost to time and to decay;
then, underneath the bridge he made his bed,
until kind neighbors saw and had their say,
set up room in the old hotel instead.
Muttin-puttin, Everett, just a memory

The axe no longer splits, saw's still, you see,
A busy man his slumber now can catch.
He's gone from the scene, and now it is to be,
sparing the old tree he would once dispatch..
Muttin-puttin, Everett, hearing the account with glee.

Now, sometimes misty memories arise;
halting words offer help for a small fee.
vaguely on the road, one walking skims our eyes,
whom few recall, except the ancient tree.
Muttin-puttin, Everett, and me.

03/12/2014 Carol Welch
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