Our Old ...

Our Old Country Home

I can still see the old house, and in my mind, and in my heart, very much, doth bring,

Fragrance, of the fresh, flowers, coming up and blooming, all around, in the spring.

It was home… this old place that’s almost falling down, and it ‘bout brings the tear…

To see it deteriorating as we come back, and take a longing look, year after year.

I recall the old oak tree out near the old, red clay, dirt road, where we’d play…

Picking up acorn tops to use as little dolls caps, while brothers play marbles all day.

We’d pick apples and peaches in the spring an summer that mama would let dry…

Nothing in the world better in the winter than one of mamas good old fried pies.

Picking and snapping green beans in the late spring that mama would can in jars…

Then, off we would go to the old oak tree, and under the branches, play cars.

Or think of the old hen house where hens would hatch the eggs with great care…

If we weren't careful, in trying to see the baby chicks, we could lose a finger there.

We loved running round the old house, playing hide, and seek, when chores were done,

Or in the winter, we loved skating and playing, out by the barn on an old frozen pond.

School was fun back in those days; you stay home, theres always a chore to do

From, washing dinner, dishes to sweeping the floor… and bringing in firewood, too.

My best memories are of the nights, all sitting closely ‘round the fireplace, wide and tall…

Getting lessons done, for school… and then, Mama reading the Bible, to us all.

Next, games to play, kids and adults the same, in the winter when its cold with rain.

But, I guess this is enough reminiscing until in my mind, and heart, I come here again.

©Pearlie Duncan Walker

More Poems By Pearlie

Kavitanjali.com