by Debra Coppinger Hill
She wore his yellow slicker,
Though it almost drug the ground,
It seemed to make things easier,
As if he was still around.
He'd left her some big boots,
She was gonna have to fill,
But his old yellow slicker,
It seemed to give her the Will.
The Will to keep on going,
The Will to be wise and strong,
The Will to make their dreams come true,
And remember, where she belonged.
She wore it to feed the cattle,
And when she cleaned the stalls,
She hung it on that high nail by the door,
And remembered he was tall.
She wore it every time,
Storm clouds came rushing in,
She even wore it sometimes,
Just so the tears would not begin.
She wore it to keep the wet out,
And to hold the cold at bay,
It eased the hardness of the ground,
Each time she knelt to pray.
She wore it to chop the tanks,
And when she mended fence,
She wore it on the best of days,
And on the ones that made no sense.
She wore it when it was ragged,
And had completely lost it's charm,
Because, if she was inside of it,
She was back inside his arms.
It's just an old yellow slicker,
But it made her life complete,
It reminded her what's important,
And it kept her on her feet.
She wore it across a life-time,
And she never felt alone,
She raised their cows, she raised their kids,
And she made their farm a home.
And when she's gone, she tells the kids,
Just hang it on that nail in the barn,
Then look at it, and in your hearts know,
His yellow slicker saved the farm.
Copyright 1997 by Debra Coppinger Hill
All rights reserved.