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Dale Young Poem
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.
Copyright © Dale Young | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Dale Young Poem
I saw a lady I had known as a girl,
A gem in natures' collection, a real special pearl.
The girl has become a lady, a classy one at that,
Whether decked in a tiara or a funny, faddish hat,
But, a lady for sure, one to behold,
Some glow into maturity, some just grow old.
Beauty is not escaping, a rose will always be a rose,
Beauty goes much deeper, that is why it glows.
Whatever life deals, however it may unfurl,
Know this, daughter of mine, you'll always be my girl.
Copyright © Dale Young | Year Posted 2011
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