The
handsome young Roger first laid eyes on her.
With
her hair flaming copper it was plain to see
Why
our girl Minnie Pearl was known as Penny.
Roger
was a well-known photographer man.
He’d
develop your pictures with stuff in a pan.
But
when Penny brought a roll to develop to him
He
made extra copies of her on the film.
Without
her suspecting, much less her a-knowing
His
interest in Penny was steadily growing.
Then
came an evening at the town’s croquet court
When
all the young folks gathered up for the sport.
Now
the game of croquet is well understood
With
wickets and mallets and balls made of wood
As a
genteel endeavor for ladies and gents.
As a
way to meet girls it makes perfect sense.
With
Roger and Penny both there and a-playing
Cupid’s
arrows were flying, it goes without saying.
As
they hammered away at the balls and the stakes
Love’s
magic spell ran wild with no brakes.
In a
whirlwind courtship, both ready to go,
They
eloped and were married in New Mexico.
Returning
to Spur as husband and wife
They
soon settled down to start married life.
For
fifty years now they’ve dealt with events
That
strengthened their bond and tested their sense.
Though
Spur was as pleasant as mornings in May
They
soon found themselves moving away.
Seeking
green pastures, you may want to say
Roger
joined forces with old Schlumberger.
From
then on they tended to move pretty much:
To
Haskell, Lake Charles, Louisiana and such.
They
returned to Texas, the Permian Basin
And
when they retired they still kept on chasin’
To
Dickens, to Arkansas, and old Abilene.
We’re
hoping that now the last move’s been seen.
The
blessings of children have come through the years
With
Terry and Pam bringing laughter and tears,
With
six precious grand-kids and even four great
A
nice even dozen fills their family plate.
Life
in Lake Charles and Lafayette too
Held
lots of adventure for the Rorabaugh crew.
Roger
loved fishing, could not get enough
Even
when his boat got stuck in the Gulf.
When
the tides went out and didn’t come back
And
nighttime was nearing and all growing black
First
Roger, then Penny, hauled on the rope.
To
pull the boat shoreward was their only hope.
Wading
and dragging the heavy boat out
O’er
the sandbars to the river they cleared with a shout.
When
at last they arrived back home in the dark
They
gave thanks they’d not been snacks for a shark.
They’d
always been rockhounds and working with stones
Gives
them such pleasure clear down to their bones;
Tumbling,
and grinding, and shaping with fire,
Buffing,
and polishing, highlighting with wire.
Gifted
both are making treasures to see.
They
shaped rocky spangles for the Club Christmas tree.
Looking
back through the priceless years of their past
We
can see that the photos from first to the last
Were
developed with love in God’s special plan.
And
their story continues. This woman. This man.
Shining
more brightly than diamonds and gold
What
the two of them have can never grow old.
By
James R. Grant