The Old Wooden Kitchen Table- In Rhyming Fashion
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.
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