Brian Strand Poet Sonnet

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.

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James Foulk October 2, 2008 at 12:51 PM this poem hit home. My grandma used to pluck chickens and have them for dinner, the best kind of chicken to eat. now her house and the chicken coop is gone so sad. this poem took me back to those days, thank you. and thank you for reading my colorful leafs falling and for your kind comment.

Joseph Spence Sr October 2, 2008 at 12:39 PM This sonnet is right on point. My grandpa also had hens and ducks. We always had a feast at Christmas time. I had to do the plucking of feathers. This piece is memory refreshing. Those were wonderful days. Great job! ~Joseph

Sean Kelly October 2, 2008 at 9:37 AM I can relate to much in this , Brian ..... A souuuperb write about the Sarge Major , by the Chief Of Staff ... I'm a 5 min man myself...( egg boiling , that is ... )

Sharon Winter October 2, 2008 at 4:55 AM Wow - what an awesome memory! Captured into a beautiful Sonnet. Those sure were the days and I bet the food your Gran cooked was out of this world delicious, not to mention so fresh! Lovely nostalgic trip back in time and sweet tribute to your grandparents. Love, Shar