by Johnny Crimson
This was at that old Tameboro Farm.
Just 6 miles due west of Calburn Hollow.
They made a life there, you know?
She tamed the cattle, played with the ducks (Vinnie & Picklefoot),
grew the corn, and cooked almost all of the meals.
She gave this place life, meaning, purpose, and a soul.
When I began typing this I was all sarcasm and vile
I'm 2 degrees calmer than that now so I'll turn this into something else.
I wrote a book for her once. A novel. It was about our lives together, that hadn't happened yet.
Oddly, the majority of the events in this book came true during our time together.
It is my task to rewrite and complete the story. I owe her that, and so much more.
I'll meet you at our eternal tree, my sweet.
To: the most miraculous soul I'll ever encounter.