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Poem

Simple Poverty

I think that I was maybe three
When memories started following me
They called us poor and, I guess, we were -
These things will tell if you concur.

Birthday cakes with not enough candles –
Coffee cups with broken handles -
Flat irons on a cast iron stove -
Mama’s button jar – a treasure trove.

Watching Daddy choppin’ wood -
Workin’ as hard as any man could -
Times were hard, but it was said -
We kids were never underfed.

Daddy was an honest, hard workin’ man -
When there was no work we lived off the land.
Seven children were spread o’er a twenty year span –
Hard work and love walked hand in hand.

Mondays were the wash days
That kept our clothes so clean
To see them drying in a summer breeze
Was such an awesome scene.

Working in the sunshine was, sometimes, a real chore
And hands that used a rub board often became sore.
Mama made all our own Lye soap
And against that stuff no germ could cope.

And Mama was a seamstress,
The best I’ve ever seen
She would fashion all our clothing
 On that pedal sewing machine.

Many things were always there
With which we had to cope
But with hard work and a faith in God
There was always hope.

Mama and Daddy didn’t have much
So, when I write my song
I’ll tell of their priceless legacy –
To know what’s right and what is wrong.

Written by John Posey
10/30/13

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