Born in poverty . His christen name Wayne.
His father died young. Left an old farm house.
His mother an alcoholic. Always in pain.
Abused by his mother. He thought he was a louse.
With mother and sister they lived in the woods
Worked hard as any man at an early age
Chopped wood endured mother’s moods
Tormented, with a heart full of rage.
He was the adult. His mother drunk in bed
Hard as it was he still loved her so
Now a rangy teen it was hard on his head
Close to manhood a Saturday dance he did go
An old time dance with music to and fro
Women danced with women. That’s how it was
Men outside drinking. Their fists they would throw
Young Wayne a stranger. There was a pause.
A tough in the crowd. From down the road
Decided Wayne would be an easy mark
A feather in his cap or so I was told
Wayne put him on his back, easy as a lark
My brother impressed as he stood in the crowd
Never saw such a fighter! The bully didn’t get a lick.
You should’ve saw him Luke. Our neighbor did us proud
Now my best friend . I call him Crazy Nick.
By Luke August 15th 2010