A good many times, when I am making rhymes
About one thing or another.
My mind goes back, to a little ‘clapboard’ shack,
Where I used to batch with my brother.
The roof was flat, you could throw a cat
Throrugh cracks in the floor and siding.
The windows were out, mice played about,
Under the floor, skunks were abiding.
I hope you understand, from the facts at hand,
We were very poor, but usually happy.
Though once in a while, we forgot to smile,
And our voices got loud and snappy.
Those days of yore, as I’ve said before,
Were full of trials and tribulations.
We just did our best, would joke and jest,
And laugh at our privations.
The good Lord knows, we didn’t see picture shows,
We ate cornmeal mush and dodgers.
We didn’t care, couldn’t afford to stare,
At the antics of ‘Roy Rogers’.
We didn’t drive fast cars, nor sit in bars,
Never got far from our humble quarters.
We didn’t use, socks in our shoes,
So we needed no fancy garters.
Our clothes were patched, our heads were thatched,
With hair both long and tangled.
We used worn out tools, had no use for schools,
We were wary of things newfangled.
We were afraid of girls, with their shining curls,
Their coy ways and fragrant powder
It seemed to us, they thought they must,
Talk loud, or a little louder.
I guess they weren’t too bad, if we had had,
Good clothes and lots of money.
They would have smiled ‘by heck’, and hugged our neck,
And fondly called us ‘honey’.
Now the years roll on, my brother is gone,
I am alone and lonely.
I look back now, and can see as how,
Things would be much different, ‘if only’.
Copyright KB, 1968, Scribblings from a Hermits Pen
