That Red Dirt Farm
I recall times of my life a long time ago,
We tend to do this more as we grow old.
That wonderful old house on that red dirt farm
Where many of my kin and daddy was born.
Grandmas', as we kids used to call it,
The rocking chair where grandpa would sit.
Those tall cottonwoods always come to mind,
Standing like giants, all in a line,
The old granary that served for so many years'
Its' gray boards forgotten like yesterdays' tears.
The rolling hills, the criss crossing creek,
Watching grandpa with his mules, Jack and Pete.
Homemade ice cream with aunt Selmas' cake,
Watermelon on the lawn...the memories we make.
Christmas was always special there on the farm
It sort of had that Norman Rockwell charm,
A cedar tree cut from out of the pasture
With its' special aroma and Christmas stature,
The big pot belly stove, hot to almost glowing,
Kinfolks gathered round, telling all their knowing.
These are but a few memories I recall,
Back on the farm with grandma and grandpa.
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