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MEMORIES OF A COUNTRY FARM
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When I feel low in a pensive way,
and life seems so forlorn,
my thoughts all stray to an early day,
back where I was born;
'Twas an old frame house on a country farm...
mid corn and tobacco crops;
where the rooster's crow was our alarm
to rise and tend those spots.
And when we rose each early morn',
aroma was everywhere,
the sweet, sweet smell of that old farm
embraced the morning air.
The rooster, there on the chicken's coop,
made his presence known,
the hens then formed a chorus group,
to join his mating tone!
To milk a cow, I did with ease...
squirting it in a pail,
but had to duck each time I squeezed...
to clear her switching tail!
And, many nights on that old farm,
the neighbors came and hummed...
around the fire at our old barn,
as fiddles and banjos strummed.
And Pa would set a rag on fire
to smoke the "skeeters" away,
and all would sing and never tire....
sometimes 'til break of day.
And many nights, in awe we gazed..
at skies with countless stars,
and all us kids would look amazed...
in guessing which was Mars.
'mid dark of nights came sparkling lights
from lightning bugs about;
just one small sight that showed God's might:
that He left nothing out.
And from the woods late in the day,
when all was soft and still,
you could hear it in a lonesome way...,
the call of the whippoorwill.
And I recall the old brick well,
a mainstay in our lives,
without a bail from wooden pail,
no farm life there survives.
Then, Mama would ring a dinner time bell
that chimed across the field;
and we washed our hands by the old brick well...
on way to the noon-day meal;
where cooking aroma adrift like haze,
would cover the woods and dell,
and a farmer's nose, like a deer, would raise...
to breathe that gorgeous smell!
And meals prepared were filled with care
for Mama left nothing out;
like collard greens with corn and beans,
and sweet potatoes...pared.
Ham with grits and brussel sprouts,
with corn-pone buttered bread.
Then apple pie would catch our eye,
that only she could bake,
or chunks of chocolate cake to try,
and all that we could take.
Now those good days of long ago,
still fill my memory's store,
Though up in age and getting slow,
I cherish them all the more;
and I'll hold in my memory for now and forever,
those days that brought me charm,
for when I become lonely, my first endeavor...
is recall our country farm!
William E. Hardison
copyrights on record
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