He placed the last shovel of dirt on the mound,
Smoothed and patted it with his hand.
Then nodded his head, uttering no sound,
As his tears fell on the hot dry sand.
He looked up to the heavens on high,
"Lord I know you must have your reasons,
But I will ever have a thousand 'Why's ?',
No amount of time will end the grievin.' "
'I'll miss her smile, or her little pout.
And the way she loved our children.
But, now our plans still need carryin' out
So we'll press on if your a'willin'."
He looked to the wagon, and rising sun,
And into the tear stained little faces.
"Come girls, lets say goodbye to your Mum.
Put your flowers here in their places."
After a long last sorrowful look,
They started on. Not a word was spoken.
The horses, wagon, and weather were good.
It was their pioneer hearts that were broken.
K.L. Dennie 2018
