To Old Places
To old places would I could go,
With these photographs to remind,
Where horse and buggy in time slow,
On dusty roads mine to rewind.
Where upon a porch made of wood,
In a rocker where I would sit;
With a hound dog, oh yes I could,
And a spittoon filled with spit.
While a lemonade close at hand,
In the heat I'd be complainin'
But 'cause we're hayin' you'd understand,
I'd be thankful it weren't rainin'.
And Ma'd have grits on the griddle
While bumble bees were the only sound;
Yep, nothin' else as I whittle,
'Ceptin' them wood chips all around.
Now a little paint I'd be thinkin',
Could use them windows and doors,
But with my lemonade drinkin'
There was just so many chores.
Until from these photos leaping,
My old wife, how could I forget?
“Yes dear,” I say, “I'm still sweeping.”
And would I could go back? You bet!
Copyright © David Maclennan | Year Posted 2016
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