A ranching man has but one dream, to be buried while the angels sing,
On his own ground that gave and fed, his life source now his final bed.
The deer will graze around that stone, you can be sure he’s not alone.
He left behind spring calves, new life, he hopes decrease his family’s strife.
A ranching man loved many things, his wife, his son, the dinner bell’s ring.
The simple things were the most grand, especially ones grown by his hand.
But the ranch was not his only love, history, the arts and God above.
Hank was a man who loved to laugh, he lived life well, on a straight path.
A ranching man has one request, that we carry on what he was blessed.
Life advice his father told him, to not pass it down would be a sin.
The ranch lives on, the grass still grows, but not the tales that no one knows.
Write them down, they’ll do you good, and make you think when you most should.
A ranching man will forever rest, on the very land he loved the best.
His memory alive throughout the grounds, look closely and he will be found.
The trees he planted, the barns he built, his flowers dance they do not wilt.
In his own ground he will rejoice, the birds’ sweet songs are now his voice!
In memory of Henry ‘Hank’ Frawley who loved his ranch.
October 12, 1936 – April 22, 2017
By Maggie Schneider