I Remember Daddy
I liked to watch my daddy bale the hay
and haul it to the barn at end of day
where little sister and I used to play.
We climbed up in the loft so we could see
our daddy drive the mules, Shorty and Kate,
up from the hayfield, then on through the gate.
Our mama called from kitchen, “Don’t be late,”
and then she sat with baby on her knee.
Those days were short it seems when I recall
the heat, the smell of new-mown hay in stall.
What fun when daddy made the final haul
and walked back to the house with Sis and me.
At supper time , we bowed our heads for grace;
the baby’s cooing lit up Daddy’s face.
© Freeda Baker Nichols