Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Some fried chicken and fried potatoes,
pot full of beans, and sliced tomatoes.
I hear catfish sizzling in hot oil,
and some fresh picked corn waiting to boil.

Old folks sit at the big oak table,
kids sit down wherever they’re able.
There’s fresh churned butter and sweet cornbread, 
enough food to keep an army fed.

After supper and the dishes done,
we head on outside to start the fun.
Children chasing the fireflies and bugs,
men drinking some shine from old stone jugs.

Making ice cream by turning the churn,
each little kid waiting for their turn.
Old folks rocking in their rocking chairs,
kids sitting around on the porch stairs.

Well daddy plays a mean guitar beat,
you wanna get up and move your feet.
Then he’ll softly strum on that six string.
while grandma and momma start to sing.

Grandpa’s up and he’s raring to go,
stomping his feet and giving a show. 
Dancing line forms over on the right,
can’t beat another Saturday night.

 
After the kids have been put to bed,
moonshine still filling the old folk’s head.
They sit back telling tales of back when,
and wishing they could be young again.

Me and you’ll sneak down to the creek bank,
listen to Waylon, Willie, and Hank.
We’ll lay on our backs and watch the stars,
talking of how we’ll make this world ours.

We’ll snuggle under the full lit moon,
and let nature play its gentle tune.
Everything is gonna feel all right,
when you come over Saturday night.

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