He left me with his garden,
English peas hanging all over the vine.
Ole' Liberty Bell, from the old homeplace.
Left me the ole' one row Farmall,
Some seeds who nows how old?
His axe, and a few rusty hoes.
Yet his laughter's not around anymore.
The memories of picking tobacco,
Inquisitive lad in the noon day heat.
Later the hard days work was done,
Home finally, rubbin' them stinkin feet.
But no one's around complaining harder.
The warmest memories of my Daddy,
Some called him J.B. just for short.
Though simple, kind, and country,
Always taught me gentle kindness.
And to always carry his torch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem