The Sargeant Major
I'll always remember Granpa Shreeve
At Eaton Road,where he & Gran dwelt;
A wide thick buckled trouser belt,
No collar,braces & rolledup shirt sleeve.
He kept hens at the bottom of his patch
His old soldier' straight back bent in a stoop,
Collecting eggs from his home-made coop,
Each day letting them out to root & scratch.
Organically grown,fed as range free
A pullet killed as a Christmas treat
Plucking feathers,a now forgotten feat,
Each day,a fresh egg for breakfast or tea.
Old fashioned and a bit of a tartar
His ways made Gran into a domestic martyr.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2008
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment