Leathery fingers drums on the side of a tobacco stained rocking chair.    A grizzled beard was stroked as a deep voice spoke in great despair.   "My wild filly, I broke, none could ever compare."    His white moustache twitched as a tear trickled down his cheeks there.    "Her hair was brown with a touch of blond twigs."    As his talking was interrupted while he finished the last two swigs.    He tossed the large brown jug over his porch by a pen of grunting pigs.    Continuing he replied, "Her skin reminded me of the texture of them wild figs."     "Her sharp nose could scent a coon if there be one nary a mile."    "A mean temper, you wouldn't want to defile."    "Her wisdom was learned from experiences she didn't beguile."    "Raw bacon could be fried by the warmth of her smile."    'Through the fertile fields she would race and bound."   "Her spindly legs could outrun any old jackrabbit around."   "She could yodel the highest note of any sound."   "A sweeter personality could never be found."     He hit the old rocker's arm with his scarred fist.    Stiffened legs are rubbed with a crooked right wrist.    As his left hand removes a large lump of chewing tobacco from a leather pouch with a twist.    Horn-rimmed glasses are cleaned as he wipes off the fine mist.     Staring in the darkness; his final comments are released in the quiet air.   "She had very fine cheeks which were very rosy and fair."   "My wild filly is buried underneath that flowering lilac over there."    His words receded in the darkness as he mumbled, "none could ever compare."

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