Widowed Kate Bonaker And her sister Missouri Riggs Resided a hundred or so Rolls of a hoop from us. Two ancient pines kept watch In front of their shuttered house. Kate gardened, watered, and fed The chickens. Missouri Pruned the three grape vines, Made lye soap, damson preserves, And gathered herbs to be dried. To me their existence seemed As inexhaustible As the water coaxed each day Sparkling and cold from the well. Purveyors of gingerbread And rock candy, they appeared To have no truck with time. Although they have been gone For more than fifty years The truth of their being still Endures, as it always will.