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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 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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