Although I would never choose to live here,
Though I'm glad my Grandparent's did,
Where party lines aren't unheard of,
and all internet connection's dead.
Where 5 am's the wake up call
It's time to pitch the hay,
I hear my Grandmother calling me
"You going to sleep all day?"
She's up in time to make our breakfast,
For she's already fed the farm,
She's collected the eggs and churned the butter,
It was all just a part of her charm.
She'd weed the garden, wash the clothes
it'd all be hung on the line,
She'd do the vacuuming, dust the house
all this would be done by nine.
By noon we were off at the neighbors,
They probably thought we were a sight,
All ready for the church function
That was going on at the church that night.
We baked the bread; We made the pies,
and snipped all the ends off green beans,
Grandma even wound up mending
holes in my cousin's blue jeans.
We'd go to the church and Praise the Lord,
And ask for forgiveness of all of our sins,
Asking Him to watch over us this night,
and as the new day begins.
When we get home to rest our sleepy eyes,
and we change out of our Sunday best,
I think 'Oh my gosh, what a day that was,
and that was our day of rest!'
© Copyright 2017 Angie Blake. All rights reserved.
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