When I Was One-and-Twenty
A. E. Housman
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
“Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.”
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
“The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
’Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.”
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.
"A Parody: daughter's inspiration to be like her mom--who love to laugh," ... by The Poet.
When I was two-and-twenty
I heard the foolish say,
Now we know a girl--chose he,
wants to still look pretty,
"Slap, then punch that Golden Rue,
till it goes back to school;
But I was too-dang-pretty,
and guys just wanted me.
So back I'm two-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
"Your tummy tuck, bosom's out
You just marred Mommy's name;
'Was paid by guys with money
told me, look like Mommy."
And I am FREE-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.
Together – he and I – him and me
We grow things in abundance
Green beans, tomatoes, squash
Okra, calves, chicks and pigs
Guineas and turkeys, some kittens
A puppy who is mostly grown
But never too old to play
Together – we – us – our
Hearts thrive on a world
Of abundance, plenty, wealth
In rich, black earth that gets
Nutrients from a downpour
Pounding the ground and bouncing
Drops off the rocky path
Together – he and I – him and me
We listen to friends who bicker
Consuming time with quarrels
Never thinking about how this dispute
Can grow, like our cucumbers
Vining their way from a short word
One weed, to something you can’t pull up
A vine that leaves you feeling
Lost, lonely, silent
Amid the beautiful blooms
That proceed the vegetable
And the tired ache that throbs
Inside a heart who is breaking
From the sorrow of squabbling
Living on a farm is never boring
There are cows to milk, bulls, steers, calves to feed
Pigs to slop and chickens to peck the dust
With guineas moving around, exploring
Chasing turkeys through the musical lead
Dance must
Enlightening their lives through adventures
Naught is as soothing a silence, a must
Ensuring life brings contentment, indeed
Knowing we will learn from misadventures
God’s just
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October 20, 2020
For two hours the Amish noticed the funny fowl dance
Delighting that the rooster and guineas attacked the mirror
The Amish women laughed as they hung out clothes to prance
Some were called to look with a slick, “Hey! Come over here!”
It is strange they think it is another like them, none think it’s a ghost.
The rooster was fierce, and angry as get out by the time of sundown.
The mirror was put away by Grandpa Amish who had loved it the most.
The guineas were more settled, but the rooster was still huffing around.
The next morning it was too dark to set the mirror out again.
By then a truck had arrived to deliver a pretty peahen.
She’ll fall for it the men said, placing their bets for some cash.
She was the smartest by far. She pushed the mirror over to crash.
Who killed the cat? Not me!
I didn't do that, no siree.
I killed the bunny
And thought it was funny
But didn't make the cat go splat.
Who killed the cat? Did you?
Fed her to the tiger in the zoo?
I killed your momma
Cuz you killed my lama
So did you kill the old cat too?
Who left the cat quite dead?
An arrow sticking through her head!
We all drove our minis
To run over guineas
But who killed the cat instead?
Raise up the oars,
get ready to row
Fiddy cents to a dollar,
start rocking the boat
Lay down the law,
be on the swivel scold
Fiddy cents to a dollar,
ropes are tightening throats
Don’t kill the messenger
bringing the bad news
Fiddy cents to a dollar,
you got nothing to lose
Night of the reaper,
death is on a grim prowl
Fiddy cents to a dollar,
your life has been sold out
Try to circle the square,
make bad geometry do good trig
Fiddy cents to a dollar,
Six feet ain’t deep enough to dig
Holla conspiracy loud,
as the cell door slams to your cage
Fiddy cents to a dollar,
new guineas be squealing with rage
Raise up the oars,
it’s a go on the freedom revolt
Fiddy cents to a dollar,
slaves are overturning the boat
The scents I remember like hand rolled cigars
Wine cask lined cellars in musty cool basements
Chocolate miniatures nestled in bright candy dishes
Tea leaves and mint steeping in dainty china cups.
Baked goods cooling on the kitchen counter
Roast with potatoes in a rich onion broth
Lilacs and roses lined on back yard fences
Channel #5 clings to grandmother’s sweater
Scents I remember from childhood spent
Fondly reminiscing with a wistful smile
In this sterile world I live in now
What will my grandchildren remember?
No leaves burnt on a cold autumn night
No carcinogens cooked over red hot coals
No second hand smoke that will cling to your clothes
No hairspray, no tea roses, no creams or colognes
No Sundays exploring my old Aunt Ruth’s farm
No chickens or guineas; no old dusty barns
No fresh moved hay or cinnamon apple pies
Just germicide, purified, Ionic fresh air.
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