Eugenia

From her brown garden seat, she carries a load, secrets spill like poppy seed, stuff you keep, like fancy French cologne, she whispers her feelings, let others weep surrender perfume soaked, to drink her whisky neat, lives by a swollen creek, the bible has a hold, grandma just rolls her sleeves, a rifle next to the sheets, she's no rolling stone, a better cure than ease, won’t bathe in love's defeat, but still enjoys her home, a time for feasts, she measures the string beans, no public telephones, down fields of blue wheat, she's never alone.