HOPE'S HAPPY SEED

January 10, 1993

Sunday morning, one, ten, ninety-three,
Our little home place all covered with snow,
It seems quite clear to wife and me
That we're all dressed up with no place to go.

A foot and a half outside the door,
Packed up tight, a pure white front;
It's a lead-pipe cinch, and that's for "shore"
The Escort can do no more than grunt.

The tractor battery is dead as a hammer;
No chance for using the blade to clear,
So Mom and I are both in the slammer,
And it seems we are bound to stay right here.

But wait! I hear the tractor's purr!
Clayton is here and has worked the trick;
He's jumped the Oliver, and I hear her
Blading the snow clear and quick.

How could we make it without these TWO?
More than once they've met our need;
Clayton and Carolyn are friends that are true,
Who sew in our hearts hope's happy seed.