A poem about Daddy Jim's wife, Ma Proffitt

Hemlocks

We set the row of hemlocks
Thin and feathery bright,
Just where the line of fence posts
Barely catches the morning light.

I remember it well. The dirt
Was soft, and the sun danced on
The sky. My ma and I worked
Half a day and settled every one.

They grew and thrived beside our house
Far back in the hill
Where there is no other noise
As the rushing waters spill.

They grew with me every year
Until they reached the window's height
And spread until they now appear
In green and rustling light

That bends around the window frame
And flows into the room
With a sound that is the same
As water rushing swiftly down.

That was so many years ago.
I now am old and face
The rushing years that swiftly flow
Hardly leaving any trace.

But for fifty years I’ve dreamed,
Startling and crystal clear,
How for the length of a day we stayed
Together setting these hemlocks here.