Poetry - page 2

Bob Rotruck, CWO3, USN (RET)

Portrait photo provided by Bob Rotruck.

The following two poems are shared by Bob Rotruck, CWO3, USN (RET).

As an introduction, he writes:

My grandmother used to hold quilting bees on our farm in southwest PA. The 110 acre farm was located on the Bedford Valley Road which ran from Cumberland, MD to Bedford, PA. I have written many poems about my life on the farm. They are all from the heart and God's inspiration.

We have several of her original quilts. One pattern I remember is: Wedding Ring. She never let a scrap of cloth go to waste. Most of her fabric came from 100 pound feed sacks. Dresses, aprons, and bonnets she made for herself and my Mother's clothes when she was little. My Mother later become a clothing construction specialist and taught the Bishop Method of Clothing Construction to college and high school home economic professors and teachers all across the country. She got her ground training from her mother.

Straight Rows

Work horses are magnificent creatures,

They stand so stately with handsome features.

My grandfather used horses each day,

To plow the rich soil and make hay.

There was Tom, Jim and Jerry too,

They were as different as me and you.

But when it came time to bend their weight,

They would pull together at a steady gait.

Row after row, a field they did work,

Mile after mile they moved and nary a jerk.

And for their reward at the end of the day,

Was a bucket of sweet grain and a fork of soft hay.

But one thing went unnoticed at each day's close,

Was my Grandfather's soft pat on each horse's nose.

He loved these quiet giants, their brawn and strength,

And they loved him, they would go any length.

Now ole' Tom, Jim and Jerry too,

Are resting a bit, they've done all they could do.

And my Grandfather is there I can attest,

Where good farmers and horses go to rest.

They are with God plowing new fields,

And they're planting seeds for perfect yields.

Each row will be straight as the eye can see,

Cause that's the only way farmers and horses can be.

Pat's sunbonnet by the garden gate

Pat's sunbonnet hung by the garden gate. photo James Cummings

The Feed Sack Bonnet

My Grandmother was a great woman a generation ago,

She worked hard in the fields and planted her garden so.

I've oft times wondered where she ever found the time,

To make that weekly trip to town to try to make a dime.

She cleaned chickens, made butter, picked corn for her clientele,

When she got to her regulars they would buy all she could sell.

Day after day, milk the cows and do chores,

Now its time for apple butter so peel out the cores.

Butcher the hogs and feed all those men,

How did she find time again and again?

The sun has gone down and time to mend a shirt,

Don't forget the washing, now it's time to make a skirt.

How many times did I see her in the corn patch,

With hoe in her hand digging out the weed thatch.

That ole' hot sun was a scorcher I'd dread,

But a homemade bonnet protected her head.

And through all the routine she managed to find,

Time for each grandchild for some peace of mind.

We would sit in her lap in her favorite rocking chair.

She'd sing softly and run a tired hand through our hair.

And now God is enjoying a fresh dumplin' or two,

She mends angels' wings and she's never blue.

The sun always shines from the heavens above,

And a fresh new bonnet has each angel and dove.

To read an additional poem titled, "The Quilt," by Bob Rotruck, see our first Poetry page. To read an inspired Christian poem, please click here:
"Friend at My Side."

We thank Bob for sharing his poems with Quilter's Muse Publications and our readers.