Tao of the Day
I've seen hard times along the way
and felt the hand of debt.
By many standards, I suppose,
I'd be called poor --- and yet
My wife and I go down the lane
When the evening sun is low,
The shadows climb the eastern hills,
The west is all aglow.
The dog goes racing on ahead,
The cats are just behind,
They seem to tell us in their way
How well they like our kind.
We stand beneath the giant pines
and hear their whispered song,
Unheard by those whose ears are tuned
To voices of the throng!
We see the splendor of the skies,
The heaven's awesome span.
And somehow, I can't help but feel
That I'm a wealthy man!
My great Aunt Dot collected many poems over the years and kept them in a scrapbook. This one was written by a 76 year old Lapeer (Michigan) farmer.
and felt the hand of debt.
By many standards, I suppose,
I'd be called poor --- and yet
My wife and I go down the lane
When the evening sun is low,
The shadows climb the eastern hills,
The west is all aglow.
The dog goes racing on ahead,
The cats are just behind,
They seem to tell us in their way
How well they like our kind.
We stand beneath the giant pines
and hear their whispered song,
Unheard by those whose ears are tuned
To voices of the throng!
We see the splendor of the skies,
The heaven's awesome span.
And somehow, I can't help but feel
That I'm a wealthy man!
My great Aunt Dot collected many poems over the years and kept them in a scrapbook. This one was written by a 76 year old Lapeer (Michigan) farmer.