Memories of Me
The old wooden farm house;
with the rusted tin roof.
Wasn't much;
But, it was always enough.
In the mountains of Virginia;
poor but yet so proud.
Lived an Appalachian family;
where only love was allowed.
And what of the girl;
who grew up there?
The little tom-boy;
with braids in her hair.
Wild as the wind;
and ready to tackle the world.
What ever became;
of that percocious little girl?
She grew up as children do;
somehow we lost touch.
I think of her often and smile;
I must admit, I miss her much.
The child that once was I;
awaits in my very soul.
For my return to her;
And to restore what time stole.
When I am old;
and my braids are grey.
We will splash in the mud;
on rainy days.
We will giggle;
at inappropriate things.
Picking wildflowers;
while we sing.
For her patience;
I definitely owe her that.
That little girl;
who was called WildCat.
Upon a mountain top;
as we laugh and we play.
With a sense of adventure;
We will live out our remaining days.
Darlene Doll Smith
Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2015
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