Daddy Jim's death poem

Black Jack

Daddy had a mule he bought
When he was all of eighty two,
For he said that he ought
Not to sit home with nothing to do.

He lived in Mountain City
After selling Proffitt's Knob
For nine thousand, hard money,
And he missed the parts of a job.

But more he missed the seasons,
The feel of the plow in his hands,
And he had to tame the demons
That kept him uneasy off the land.

So he went to the county fair
Held way down in Johnson City
And found a mule with jet black hair
And a slim leg that made him pretty.

He kept him in an old tin barn
Along with his feed and tack,
Just a stone's throw from the new home
Away around the back.

I'd often find him in his field
After he got a tobacco license,
And he got a pretty good yield
That he sold at the Burley warehouse.

He worked that mule the day he died
In his armchair in Mountain City.
As his life, his death was a surprise,
But the mule was sold, a pity!