The Sargeant Major
I'll always remember Granpa Shreeve
At Eaton Road,where he & Gran dwelt;
A wide thick buckled trouser belt,
No collar,braces & rolledup shirt sleeve.
He kept hens at the bottom of his patch
His old soldier' straight back bent in a stoop,
Collecting eggs from his home-made coop,
Each day letting them out to root & scratch.
Organically grown,fed as range free
A pullet killed as a Christmas treat
Plucking feathers,a now forgotten feat,
Each day,a fresh egg for breakfast or tea.
Old fashioned and a bit of a tartar
His ways made Gran into a domestic martyr.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2008
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