The Son. [Ridgely Torrence]

I heard an old farm-wife,
Selling some barley,
Mingle her life with life
And the name “Charley”.

Saying, “The crop’s all in,
We’re about through now;
Long nights will soon begin,
We’re just us two now.

Twelve bushels at sixty cents,
It’s all I carried —
He sickened making fence;
He was to be married —

It feels like frost was near —
His hair was curly.
The spring was late that year,
But the harvest early.”