He was a hat man from another time
of gentlemen and southern chivalry
saying grace before he dined
standing upon the entrance of a lady
working the garden til dark
in bed by eight o'clock
up by five for the field to part
only for dinner making a stop
He knew all the plants by name
Just what they needed to grow
All the many friends the same
Words of love and comfort he knew
The Stetson rarely worn today
Men mostly sit when ladies enter
I miss the old way
Calloused hands so tender.
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