The man walks down the lane
Between the rows of elms he planted
To the mailbox by the dusty road

Opens the door on the box
Empty
No letter from his girl

His first born child so little at birth 
Tears had come to his eyes
Fearing for her life

But she survived and grew
Smart as a whip
A good girl

Now off in the city
Gone to college
Too busy to write

The man turns 
Empty handed
Chores to do in the barn

No foreshadowing 
Of the stroke that will come
In the spring 



Kristin Moyer
For my grandfather