It is funny how only when we’re older we recount time
It always seems to be only good things, days sublime
Stories mother or daddy told us as we sat quietly
Listening and taking in every word, eager as could be
The stories of their childhood, a time when things were good
But their stories were of poverty, not as life should
Dad would always tell us just how good we had life
Not like during the great depression when it was only strife
So, Take your sack of anxiety and place it on a rack
I promise you this: it’ll be there when you get back
Open your ears and listen to the recount
Of former ways on a little country route
As small country children, we would run everywhere
The Summers with no school was a time with little cares
Exploring creeks and playing games with each other
Discovering precious rocks to take back to our mother
There were times when days didn’t always end well
We would get a switching cause none of us would tell
Who broke the window while playing some baseball
We always blamed the boys, and sister Marilyn always took the fall.
Children ask their moms and dads to tell them their way past
Time keeps running forward, and your memory doesn’t last
Please carry it to the next generation, for how else will they know
Life lessons kept in a bottle are only there for show
Put good morals together with some humility
It’ll make life better; try it, and you’ll see
Years Down the road, when you sit and try to recall
When life hardships come upon you, you’ll avoid that fall
Because you sat and asked the questions of days past
When you were young and full of life and thought your days would always last
Recent Post