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The Old Wooden Kitchen Table- In Rhyming Fashion

I am a writer of poetry and fiction. I especially love flash fiction. My name is Ruby, and I live in Southern Illinois. I am a retired R.N.

The abandoned old home place.

The abandoned old home place.

Time marches on, or, so they say.

I ambled slowly among the rubble of my old childhood home

I tread easily as memories lay barefaced on the old iron fireplace dome

I envision the children running and playing around the old wooden table that mama kept full of homemade goodies prepared by her loving hand's

Hot biscuits, giblet gravy adorned the turkey on a special Sunday that spans the hand's of time

Was it that long ago when they all gathered around that old wooden kitchen table to hear mama's stories of rhyme?

She always seemed to know just what new story to tell

The one about the old swimming hole or the old bottomless well


The creatures who lived there, their joy's and their sorrow's

The children would listen wide-eyed and bushy tailed about their exciting yesterday's and tomorrow's

Oh how I wish I could go back once more

Sit quietly just to feel the love and hear the laughter and perhaps the loud slamming of the old wooden door

Time marches on, or, so they say

Nothing can compare to a special Sunday at mama's old wooden kitchen table that will forever bring me back to yesterday today.