Jim The Caring Poem by Ima Ryma

Sometimes I'd watch him watching me
As I was swinging on a rope
O'er the river from the elm tree.
Each time we met I knew he'd hope
That I would be the girl for him.
I knew he was a special guy,
And I enjoyed being with Jim.
He watched me on that last time I
Swung on the rope in April cold.
And when I fell, my head struck ice.
I knew I never would grow old.
I could see Jim and that felt nice.

I knew Jim thought that I was brave,
And put wildflowers on my grave.