Grandma's Old Oak Tree

Grandma’s Old Oak tree No backyard trees do I remember, Tho cottonwood and mulberries lined street and walk, So for this purpose one I’ll adopt one from Grandma’s backyard for this poem’s talk. A round old oak, too big to hug, sprawled o’er her big backyard, Where three girls washed in an old wash pot out on an old washboard. Smoke darkened the old tree’s under leafed belly, All the more to shade the girls’ summer library. So dense it was, it was nature’s dry hideaway, One side the iron pot, on its arms a swing A pile of sand where all could play, From there you could hear the children sing. The old tree was old when its girls were young, And lived ‘til their ripe old age; For all I know it still lives to love Another family turning its page.