Rhythmic Stories December 8, 2020

Milk Run

The milk run was a necessary measure
For my sister and me it was a weekly pleasure

We would go down the hill in our western flyer wagon
Our baby sister road along with hands on the sides trying to hold on

We ran down the hill till we got to the big iron gate
Mamas instructions reminding us to hurry, don’t make her wait

Mama sent with us 2 dozen hot rolls, that were still warm
And A dozen cinnamon rolls for the Amburger’s Farm

We bartered a lot back in those days
No one had much money, so that was our way

They were anxious for the freshly baked rolls
Mama was needing her liquid gold

The milk run seemed to go by so fast
We savored those moments, and sad they didn’t last

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