The Finest I've Ever Seen

                                          We no longer raise gardens, chickens and hogs

                                          No more smoking chimneys, we now use gas logs

                                          There's no more hog killings on Thanksgiving Day

                                          Only turkeys and hams grace the tables today

                                          We no longer carry water in for the night

                                          There's plenty of running water and baths delight

                                          There's no more sitting by an old oil lamp

                                          A light hangs from the ceiling, an electric revamp

                                          No more traveling preachers, a thing of the past

                                          Big new churches, log churches are in the past

                                          There's no more Store Truck making its way through

                                          Like kids in a candy store, we stood like a statue

                                          An orange and an apple used to be a Christmas treat

                                          Now days electronics are the only thing that's neat

                                         Keeping a milk cow and churning our own buttermilk

                                         They now snarl their nose if its not store bought milk

                                         There's not many clothes now blowing in the wind

                                         We now have clothes dryers and washers that spin

                                         No one takes time to visit their neighbors or the sick

                                         My daddy's not here with his big walking stick

                                        The canning and jelly making days are almost gone

                                         Just a few old timers left to carry on

                                        There's no one left to cure the thrash (Thrush) anymore

                                        My mama's gone and her cure is no more

                                        There's no more prayer and recess in school

                                        It seems everything now has become man's rule

                                        Those old aprons they wore with money tucked away

                                        Is gone too, like their hair tucked in buns of gray

                                        And those old time zinnas my grandma so loved

                                        They now grace heaven with beauty and love

                                        There's no more plowing with an old mule now

                                        They use big tractors but that old mule sure could plow

                                        There's no more hunting foxes, possums and coons

                                        And sitting by a campfire listening to the dogs croon

                                        That good squirrel gravy and dumplins I still smell

                                        My mama sure could make them so yummy and swell

                                        There's no more sleeping with six in the bed

                                        With three at the foot and three at the head

                                        And sweeping the yard with a worn out broom

                                        Praying for some grass to grow really soon

                                        There's no more swinging on those old grapevines

                                        Or playing hopscotch in the sand with hand drawn lines

                                        There's no more crawling through the barbed wire fence

                                        Trying to escape the bull, we didn't have any sense

                                        Playing in the cold creek was a summer time game

                                        Claiming to fall in on a winter's morning wasn't the same

                                        Going fishing at the old mill pond with fishing pole in hand

                                        Losing track of time, the fishing was so grand

                                        Helping mama find Poke Salad in the early spring

                                        Climbing through the briars and snakes was her thing

                                        Or picking creesy greens from the creek bank each year

                                        Not knowing the difference with mama not here

                                        Going to bed with the chickens on hot summer days

                                        No time change did we have, we got used to the same ways

                                        There's no more robbing the hen's nest in the early morn

                                        Those old hens sure could lay, fed good with corn

                                        Those wonderful old days I loved and once knew

                                         Is now gone and the old ways too

                                        The living was so good, the finest I've ever seen 

                                         I love to go back it makes my heart sing

                                            © Susie Swanson, 2019