Molly Bees Memories

The man puts his hand to the plough,

He’ll make a living somehow.

His family depends on him,

Every season to season.

The man puts his hand to the plough,

His shoulders hung low now.

Somehow he’ll find the strength

To go the extra length.

The season came on quick,

It takes determination to stick,

Monotonous row after row,

At least it’s better than a hoe.

His crops won’t come in late,

If the elements cooperate.

Year after year the crop gave its yield,

Now the plough’s rusting in the field.

Time passed and left its mark,

Invention went and found a spark.

Now no man puts his hand to the plough,

As ploughs rust in the field with the cow.

Poem and photo by Molly Watson — Kansas Prairie, 2026

If you are looking for me today,
follow our path. You know the way

past the grapevines sitting by the ridge
you’ll find me atop the old girded bridge

I’ll be staring at the tadpoles swimming just beneath
in the clear glassy water running through the creek

I go there sometimes when I’m feeling a little blue
It brightens up my day to sit and think things through

The soft sedating sounds of the bubbling brook
With hues of color, I give them an admiring look

Feet dangling off the bridge, just the swishing sound
Quietly listening together, no sweeter a place found

Our bridge sits rusting, and her day is now in numbers

So, run down the hillside and climb on up while we still can remember

My Bridge by the Ridge

Down a dusty road,
Where memories still bloom,
Stands my bridge by the ridge,
In the soft light of afternoon.

Bull Shoals

Bull Shoals,
On the shoreline of Bull Shoals,
Raised the bodies of three small souls.
In silence, they’ve rested there,
Not to have seen worldly cares
There could have been.
Now losses, not wins.
Sweet innocent girls,
Such lives are not unfurled
In a cemetery washed white,
On a dusty road out of sight.
We remember them still,
Oh, lives that were never filled,
Just a memory of life
From an era full of strife.
Never forgotten through time,
All with names so sublime.
Generations fly by,
Leaves a tear in my eye.
Rest in Peace.

It happened in the Burgess General Store,

About five minutes after we walked in the door.

It was a scorcher outside, not much cooler in,

When Robin saw the popsicles through the icebox tin.

She couldn’t resist — she snuck one out fast,

Tucked it in her waistband, but it didn’t last.

It slipped down into her pants,

She tried not to wiggle, but did a little dance.

Old Jim saw what she had done,

Decided to teach her and have a little fun.

He just kept talking — about mom and dad and the heat,

While purple melted down her leg to her feet.

We headed for the door and saw it on the floor,

That sticky purple puddle — you couldn’t ignore.

Old Jim smiled like he didn’t see,

And just let it be.

By the time he was through talking, it had melted in her shoe —

A hard lesson learned, and one we knew was true:

Never sneak a purple popsicle.

It’s going to melt for sure

The memory of watching Mama’s mouth turn upwards into a smile,I have kept safe through the years; it’s helped me through life’s miles.

Even to this day, I can see her smile, the image somewhat faded.It was clear to me that day she must have been elated.

Children playing everywhere, Mama baking as if she hadn’t a care.I smile at the image of her kneading dough, some white flour powder laced in her hair.

· · ·

Fourteen hungry children to feed,trying to fill our daily needs.

I often wonder what kept her beautiful smile intact.I couldn’t have ever filled her shoes; that is just a fact.

A smile lasts only seconds, but its warmth can stay to embrace youthrough the years of sadness or pain. It’s what will get you through.

· · ·

The smile on my Mama’s face has pulled me through dark years.She was a gentle giant; I’m sure she shed a million tears.

A smile can last forever, long after the person is gone.The best time to pull it out and use it is when you feel alone.

Mama’s smile has lasted a lifetime; at least her image has gotten me throughsome of life’s rough spots and days when I’m feeling blue.

A Mama’s smile is priceless, don’t trade it for anything.It’s there in your memory, filed away under the heading, “happiness it brings.”

♡

In loving memory of Billie Joyce Orcutt