SoC 3:1

Song of the Farmer's Daughter

She grew up among the corn fields
and where the Egrets flew,
she listened for the screech owl
that hooted with compassion for you,
and if you were in that forest,
in that jungle of steam and sweat,
you would find yourself
among the Pine and Palm,
in the far reaches of Florida's trek.

And she showed to me, her family farm
and all around her town,
the floating island and the lake
and their old ancestral ground,
she found a stirrup made of wood
among those piney woods,
she taught me to cherish that dark, dank earth
in that jungle of steam and sweat,
in the far reaches of Florida's trek.

She was from a clan who farmed the land,
land where a town now stands,
and when they got together their food would overwhelm me,
with steaks on the grill, oysters on the half-shell,
black-eyed peas and corn on the cob,
I could not have been any closer to Heaven
in that jungle of steam and sweat,
among the Pine and Palm,
in the far reaches of Florida's trek.

She lived a country life
and had a country home,
they built all themselves, many years ago,
her mother would sew her dresses
with green and red Christmas ribbon,
not to make them quite so humble,
while life was never simple
in that jungle of steam and sweat
she would smile to remember you
in the far reaches of Florida's trek.

The stirrup that she found,
she hung it on our door
with green and red Christmas ribbon
and sleigh bells sewn in place,
to welcome our friends to our door
and to remember her kin, long dead.
She remembered them among the tall Pine,
among the cows and corn fields, too
she remembered hearing the screech owl
that hooted with a passion for you,
and if you were in that forest,
in that jungle of steam and sweat
you would have remembered her, too,
in the far reaches of Florida's trek.

Comment from the writer:

This poem, upon first inspection, does not seem to be reminiscent of any particular feeling of spirituality, mysticism or unseen awareness. However, the reason I do is because of how it was written. Originally written in the summer of '04, in the wee hours of the night, I had a visitation from my long dead and buried mother-in-law, who lived all of her life in Florida. I didn't "see" her there in my room, however, I sensed her and I felt her giving me these words, and I wrote them down. As you can well imagine, this is not the normal way I come upon the writing of a poem. It also has been the last visitation she has given me, so I feel this poem was given to me by her. However, I do practice meditation and spirituality. The real difficulty with this particular poem was not the writing of it. It was the cutting out of so much material, as in its original form there was over 100 lines of poem. It is also written from a factual basis. We lived in Florida from 1979 to 1989. Her mother and father, now deceased were Mrs. Lucy Mae (Johns) Croft, Sr. Her husband was Mr. John Edward Croft, Sr. and lived in Inverness, Florida and were long time residents on Croft Rd.