A Bobby Bare Sunday Morning

I grew up with Country music
Loved its simple themes
It’s been my constant joy
For ever or so it seems.
Bobby Bare’s on the Bose
Singing a tear jerking song
And I’m sitting there listening 
And quietly singing along.

Sunday morning session one
Of those times I like the most
Playing Country music 
Belly full of buttered toast.
A working man’s music
From earthier days
Telling redneck tales
Telling redneck ways.

I’m a Yorkshire country boy,
A redneck farm worker’s son
Who was given the chance
To progress and move on.
No redneck work for me
No need to labour on the land
A chance give to me by 
My dad’s work hardened hands.

The Sunday morning session 
Helps roll back the years
And I think of mam and dad
Surreptitiously wiping tears.
Yorkshire red neck values, 
From village childhood days
All come back to mind as 
My Sunday Country music plays.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

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Bauer Avatar
January 9, 2023 at 1:24 PM
this is so simple, yet it makes magic, terry! wonderfully written...
Ireland Avatar
January 9, 2023 at 1:56 PM
Thanks ilene - that’s Bobby Bare effect
Volumes Avatar
January 8, 2023 at 1:52 PM
Terry, do you ever write an awful poem, that nobody could enjoy? l really don't think its in you, l love this one as well. don't like 'American' country music but l like your poem, its just swell.
Ireland Avatar
January 9, 2023 at 12:58 AM
ahh Wen, just try a bit of Bobby Bare, George Jones, Mo Pitney - you might like some.
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