I lived in a house a hundred years old
on no foundation or blocks,
no crawlway space for plumbing or heat.
It perched on a few gathered rocks.
The wooden siding went down to the ground
where it was beginning to wear.
With chewing and digging a hole was soon made
by a skunk who decided to share.
More rocks I brought in to cover the hole,
but the skunk just built a new door.
All week I battled to evict my tenant
as the musk odor worked through the floor.
Peeved, I went out and dug a deep trench,
then nailed on some pieces of tin.
That night the kids called as they readied for bed:
“It sounds like that skunk wants back in.”
I peeked out the door to look for this skunk,
but it was nowhere in sight.
Wondering where the rascal had gone,
I proceeded out, armed with a light.
It vanished completely into the night air,
nowhere to be seen ‘round my house.
“Good riddance!” I thought, “I’ve outsmarted it.
I’m finally rid of that louse.”
But as I was gleefully patting my back,
A scratching noise came from the tin.
That skunk was still here, just under the house.
I’d nailed that darn stinker in!
Copyright 1995 Terry Henderson
St. Patrick’s Day, I’ve heard them say,
is full of Irish fun.
They drink green beer from far and near
until the keg is done.
I’ve been accused, my name misused.
They say I’ve tried that stuff.
But you should know that isn’t so.
The story is a bluff.
Green beer for me? Now, honestly!
It really can’t be true.
With straightest face, I state my case—
I’d never drink green brew.
The reason why? I will not lie.
They’ve truly spun a yarn.
For I have seen that liquid green
in pools below the barn.
Copyright Terry Henderson
I head towards the ranch house
as the evening shadows lengthen.
The day’s warm, the wind is calm.
I feel my spirits strengthen.
The pasture grass is tall and tan-
cured by hot summer’s heat.
It’s belly deep on livestock,
more than cows and deer can eat.
The ponderosa pine, cottonwoods,
and cedars mix.
A rangy purple mountain line
backdrops the old salt licks.
Sage chickens flutter in the dust.
A badger waddles by.
A tiny ant is struggling
while bluebirds find the sky.
I pause upon the sandrock ridge
to sit awhile in awe,
to absorb my role of where I fit
in Mother Nature’s law.
The magic of this quiet beauty
softly lulls my mind.
I hold no more mere human fears
as slowly I unwind.
The grandeur of this golden moment
comes from the Master’s touch.
My heart is filled with gratitude
that He’s given me so much.
Copyright 1995, revised 2005,
Terry Henderson
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