My Pa was one of 7 children. Each sibiling has a talent, some sang, recited poetry they had written around the campfires in the evening after supper. My Pa sang and recited poetry, so did his Pa, Gpa Art, this is one I remember fondly! Photo from my Pa’s cabin, one of the two privies on the property! 😀
When memory keeps me company and moves to smiles or tears
A weather-beaten object looms thru the mist of years
Behind the house a barn it stood, a half a mile or more
And hurried feet a path had made straight to its swinging door
Its architecture was a type of simple classic art
But in the tragedy of life, it played a leading part.
Along the berry bushes reddened in the streaming soil behind!
Twas fun to watch the spiders build themselves a bower
Delightful when my desire was to while away a lonely hour
What need to scrape the gooseflesh with a dilapidated cob
When we were fortunate enough to have a
Sears Roebuck Catalog!
That from a rusty nail was uspended by a string
Cause my father was a frugal man and wasted not a thing.
And once a swarm of hornets bold had built their castle there
And stung my unsuspecting Aunt I dare not tell you where
Then father took a flaming pole!! That was a glorious day
He darn near burned the old shack down but the hornets left to stay
And oft the hurried traveler drove slow and heaved a sigh
To see the modest hired girl slip out with glances shy
Now we had our posy garden that women loved so well
I liked it too but better still I loved the stronger smell.
That filled the summers evenings with such a home like cheer
And told the night oer taken tramp that human life was near
And in the hot mid-summer time there’d be a swarm of flies
That flitted to and from the house where Ma was baking pies.
Now when Grampa had to go out back to make his morning call
We bundled up the deal old man with muffler and a shawl
I knew the hole on which he sat Twas puddled all around
And once I dared to sit!!! It was all too large I found
My loins were all too little and I jacked-knifed there to stay
The had to come and pull me out or I’d have passed away
Then father said ambition is the thing that boys should shun
And I should use the chilluns hole til childhood days are done
But still I marvel at the craft that cut those holes so true
The baby hole and slender hold that fitted sister Sue
That old familiar landmark I’ve tramped around a bit
But in the lap of luxury my lot has been to sit
Yet ere I die I’ll eat the fruit of trees I robbed of yore
Then seek the shanty where my name is carved upon the door
I bet the old familiar smell will soothe my jaded soul
I’m now a man but none the less
I’ll try the chilluns hole!
Tell Me About It 
You must be logged in to post a comment.