The homemade willow rocker was of little worth
A tiny pioneer woman rocked back and forth
She had comforted many a wee babe in this some rocking chair
Especially her sweet daughter and true sons so fair.
Forward and backward went the swaying motion
While her loving relative rubbed her wrinkled hands with Avon lotion.
Her patient kindly face across which time had ploughed
Many a deep furrow showing the suffering lines very loud.
Time had planted the seeds of character to show
In her sad tired eyes and sagging shoulders now.
The fragile little lady wore a plain faded calico dress
There she sat enjoying the cool evening's fresh air, no less.
She looked off over toward the big tall pine
There her daughter was buried in a cedar box so fine.
"We don't talk about her," says Great Aunt Mollie
"Mr. Mathieson can't stand it--her name was Hollie.
'Tain't natural for him to be so rough and short
He's just as good and kind as any man at the fort.
Kind inside as any man was or could be
You can easily imagine how he hurts, you see."