He was born in the country where the prairie grass grows. Where tall cotton is picked and winter wheat blows.
There were five of the kids and he was the runt. He was full of energy and known for his stunts.
Try as they might, to wrangle him in, he was like a wild donkey, loose from the pen.
Bill and Ruth showed no favor or harm. They put him to toil, plowing the farm.
He would work hard by day and chase coons by night. He was born to wander and taken to flight.
Short in stature but full of spite, he would bloody your nose if you got in a fight.
His dark curly locks and big olive eyes, broke ladies’ hearts and magnified their cries.
He was a charmer for sure, a smooth talker no less. The farmers’ daughters liked him but called him a mess.
He moved from the country to work on the dock, raising a family until the troubles did knock.
Hard times they came and his world out of control, the demons taunted him and fought for his soul.
There were years of darkness, not a glimmer of hope, but he kept pushing onward never to mope.
His health started failing but his mind stayed intact, as he battled for oxygen through a mobile air pack.
Then one January, much to his surprise, a visitor came knocking, it was one of his guys!
It was quite a reunion, full of joy and tears.The prodigal returned, after all of these years.
They agreed to look forward and not to look back, to capture new memories and keep things on track.
Three winters they journeyed as they played and had fun, the old man, his boy, the father and son.
Life is shorter, than we all care to count, but when with those we love, it’s the perfect amount.
God brings us together and then calls us home. This is certain, sure as the Pope lives in Rome.
Life isn’t easy and is chockfull of knocks, but when we have Jesus, we’re solid as rocks.
Donnie has left us, but it’s never goodbye. He is jamming with the angels, with his guitar on high.
Written by Ray Sanders in loving memory of his dad, Donald Lee Sanders, February 3, 2017