Her name’s on the note at the Valley Bank, boys Though she might have questioned the loan She signed her John Henry ’neath yours on the line And she will ’til the kids are all grown.
Nobody’s counted the pickups she’s pulled
Or measured the miles she’s put on the rake
Kept track of the pancakes or lunches she’s packed
Or the number of times she lay there awake.
Praying her prayers for the man in her bed
God only knows, ’cause He’s keepin’ track
She’s buildin’ up interest somewhere down the line
To use in a trade on your first cardiac.
She puts up with cows she knows you should cull
Scourin’ calves on the livin’ room floor
Tracks in the bathroom and mud on the sheets
Flies in the kitchen from broken screen doors.
She patiently listens to stories you tell
Recounting the skill of your blue heeler mate
She wishes, herself, if that dog was so smart
You could teach that pot licker to open a gate.
She offers opinions that seldom sink in
’Til time, oft’ as not, proves she was right
But it’s darn hard to figger how she coulda known
You’re not the only one who worries at night.
She’s old as the mountain and young as the spring
Timeless in labor and wisdom and love
Of all of God’s creatures that man gets to share
The wife of a cowman was sent from above.
So lay there tonight when you go to bed
Remember your partner, she’s tried and she’s true
You’re lucky, my man, to have such a friend
Take care of her, ’cause she takes care of you. PD
Photo by Thinkstock.
