Memories drift back to way back when Monday was the day to wash clothes There was no indoor plumbing Nor even water from a garden hose All the water was carried in buckets From a pump out in the back yard Most everything was done by hand And washdays were really hard Smoke filled the air with ashes and soot From the fire under the big wash tub Grandma whittled slices of homemade soap In boiling water, then started to scrub Her hands were gnarled and calloused From scrubbing on an old wash board In her long, cotton dress and apron Hard work seemed her only reward Grandma's frame was slight and bent Wispy, grey hair pinned up in a bun Her skin was so worn and wrinkled From many hours working in the sun The washing, rinsing and wringing by hand On our dear Grandma took its toll Many hours later clothes flapped in the wind On a clothesline propped up with a pole In the old house, a pot of pinto beans Cooked slowly on a cast iron stove Served for supper with a pone of cornbread Farm life was no treasure trove After supper, Grandma sat on the porch With her mending and an old sewing tin A few hours of sleep before the rooster crowed Another long, hard day would begin Grandma was a hard-working woman With her loving and simple ways And I know that I'll be seeing her again In God's Heaven, one of these days Kathleen McCoy Eldridge© August 5, 2006 All Rights Reserved








Midi Unknown To Me