Wednesday, June 22, 2016

"Eyes of a Painter"

Gray-haired and flint-eyed
His sunburned Face lined 
Grandpa was a man of few words
He had a way of not wanting to say
Any more than he thought could be heard.

The long Years of Living 
And day-to-day Giving
Had carved a Map on his Face
With Little to Lose, he'd learned how to Choose
And his Choices were easy to Trace.

He had the Eyes of a Painter
The Heart of a Maker of Songs
And his Words fell Like Rain
On the Dry desert Plain
Precious and so Quickly Gone.

From a long line of Teachers
And white Baptist Preachers
He was Born with an Indian Will
His Quiet dark Eyes, Reading the Light 
As he rode in the low Osage Hills.

His School was the Prairie, the Sage, the Wild Berry
The Quail, the wide Open Sky
The Cottonwood thicket, by the Slow Rolling River
The Redbud and the hot Cattle Drive.

There were Days filled with Thinking
Nights with the drinking
For a Lost Love that Raged like a Storm
But how his Eyes Smiled, when he'd talk to a Child
His rough Hands so Gentle and Warm.

His strong Arms were brown 
Where the long sleeves rolled down
On his Faded blue cotton Shirt
When Times got hard, he went out in the yard
And cuss away some of the Hurt.

Now the Garden's grown dusty
The hand Axe lies Rusty
The door's banging hard in the Wind
Grandpa's Store is Closed down
Like most of the Town
And  it Won't be Open again.

His big white car sits out in the Yard
Of  the House he Built Solid  and True
But I see his Eyes, Burning tonight
Like the Stars in the Sky he once Knew.

He had the Eyes of a Painter...
And the Heart of a Maker of Songs
~And his Words  Fell like Rain...
On the Dry desert Plain
Precious and so  Quickly Gone.

~Kate Wolf

 22 June, 2016 


  1. ~Kate Wolf; born Kathryn Louise Allen,
    27 January, in 1942.
    I became acquainted with Kate's music, two years, ago. She wrote in a Universal language, her lyrics and music woven into a rich tapestry of colours and textures, never leaving an unfinished seam-much like Kate, herself.
    I can not compare Kate's body of work to any other artist. Simply, it stands alone, like a bright-shining-gold star, in a galaxy of its own. ~Always strong and true.
    Kate died, in 1986, at age 44, after a long battle with leukemia. Her music shines as a Beacon, resonating with the Spirit of this incredibly talented woman. It remains a Living Legacy... We Remember, Kate Wolf...We Remember.

  2. So perfectly put Dear Alicia! Thank you and Blessings to you!

  3. Osiyo, Redwolf.
    ~Your words are strong and true, as well. I am always happy to read them, and am equally blessed to call you, "friend."