The seasons of long ago, as a child comes to mind,
Of wishing Fall would come on, being so sublime ~
With leaves of beauty and the winnowing wind,
To blow the chaff from the leaves once again.
In a cotton field, trifling, watching a spider in a web ~
Dreaming of getting to be sixteen and being a deb.
Hoping Mama wouldn't think it was a sin.
Watching a weevil edging it's way to a cotton boll,
While dragging my cotton sack up a little knoll.
It was all over now, but the celebrating with berry pie,
Picked in the Spring, by a creek nearby.
Rustic leaves of yellow and gold beginning to soft down
To the furrows at the edge of the wood, all brown.
With all of us eating a sack lunch with a sigh.
Fall was here and Winter was ready to abound,
With the sheep baaing, as their wool was grew thick all 'round.
Sweet Gum balls to wrap in foil, saved from gum wrappers
To make the Christmas tree look soft, but dapper.
Santa is coming soon, I'm looking for a new hair brush,
'Cause Teacher said one hundred strokes is a must.
That it would make the hair shine with luster.
Memories are good, but I don't let them make me too soft.
Remembering a little place we called a garden-croft ~
Picking peas to shell, okra, beets and snap beans
Lettuce and peppers to can and turnips and greens.
A big Sweet Gum tree down at the end, where we'd play
Until sun-down, or 'til Mama called us inside to stay.
But I loved the Country ways and all that it means. |
