Today “Neighbors” carries a poem that was sent in last spring. Unfortunately, “Neighbors” already was swamped with column ideas you kind folks had sent in, so this was crowded out.
But very belatedly, it’s being run today, because its tender message touches the heart all year ‘round.
It comes from Bonnie (Smokov) Peterson, Fargo.
“My parents, Paul and Betty Smokov, ranched northwest of Steele, N.D., for many years,” Bonnie writes.
“Dad left us three years ago, and Mom moved to town.
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“I always remember how the first crocuses on the farm seemed to be an important milestone of hope each spring.
“Maybe this poem of mine will resonate with other present and former ‘farm/ranch kids’ and their families.”
Here is Bonnie’s poem.
“The First Flowers of Spring”
Not much in common, but she didn’t care.
They met in the autumn and made quite a pair.
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The money was scarce, but he gave her a ring.
Then he brought the first flowers of spring.
The years crawled by slowly and times seemed so hard
With too much to do and five kids in the yard.
But the headaches and heartaches, they didn’t mean a thing
When he brought the first flowers of spring.
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Not much for tokens or words full of love,
He gave out praise sparsely if push came to shove.
His language was nature and birds on the wing.
So he’d bring the first flowers of spring.
With unsteady steps and an eye to the ground,
His heart skipped a beat with the treasure he’d found.
He offered the gift that could make her heart sing,
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As he brought the first flowers of spring.
Her rancher’s been gone now for over a year.
He left on his terms and brought many a tear.
Now over his ashes where meadowlarks sing
She picks the first flowers of spring.
If you have an item of interest for this column, mail it to Neighbors, The Forum, Box 2020, Fargo, ND 58107, fax it to 701-241-5487 or email blind@forumcomm.com.
