The low-lying cloud lies on my newly, furrowed field. I breathe in the musty Delta bottom. A puff of Spring breeze conjures up my Holly’s spirit and she rides over the Folly, hair flying, laughter singing.
Then, she stops at the sheep shed to dock tails, trim hooves, sheer sheep. Satisfied, she glides to my pond to bob for bass.
On the day of her birth, we held our breaths for the legacy boy, our last chance for a Yager. But, she fooled us all. Mischief started there; she became my shadow, my soul mate.
I have no used for the sun, if it can’t shine on her sweet face. Go away moon, you can no longer shadow her step. The stars have burnt out, every one lost in her eyes.
On the darkest day for my family, take my heart broken by the pain to scatter over the farm she loved. My shadow, returned to the Delta bottom.
Tell me – why is the last of my family the first to leave?
From the voice of her grandfather, Bob Yager. My ever happy niece Holly Suzanne Yager