Nan C. Ballard

For the Simple Things

Ramshackle rickety run-down near-ruin,
Barely fit for the spiders and flies,
But the roof is sound, and the floor is dry,
And there’s firewood stacked good and high.

A flickering fire on the low corner hearth
Adds to the rafters’ smoke stains
But a cough or two is little to pay
For walls between me and the rain.

The turkey is done with little for fixin’s,
Only biscuits and beans but they’re hot.
Cold water for wine, straight from the spring,
And canned peaches will do for dessert.

Haunting wind whines in a low minor key
A prelude to winter in “A.”
Someone piled bracken fern deep on the bunk
And I’ll sleep like a calf in the hay.

So thanks for the food and thanks for the roof,
The water, the wind song, and the bed.
Thanks for the fire, so warm and so bright,
And whatever may still lie ahead.