Music to Remember

Early mornings on a ranch

all started like an avalanche,

A tottering pile of chores to do

and food to cook and life renew.

All those days began with Dad,

all freshly cleaned, in robe of plaid,

Standing in your bedroom door,

to tell you sleeping time was o’er…

The sun was rising, up you’d get,

the time had come to toil and sweat,

But Sundays always started slow,

no need to really jump. And go,

One could lay in bed and dream,

               you were in Heaven, it would seem,

Soft music flowed around you there,

               starting low, just like a prayer,

Then rising, swirling, every note,

               by horns and strings would love emote,

One knew that Dad had placed a stack

               of music on the player’s rack,

Cause that’s how Sundays started out,

               With soft notes swirling all about.

O’er forty years have slipped on by,

               all in the blinking of an eye,

But still my childhood lingers on,

               though many who were there are gone,

Cause when I hear those flowing strains,              

               ‘tis Sunday morning, once again.

Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we three besought,
To try to make the week begin
With pleasant thoughts--perhaps a grin?
So Jenny and Delores, we,
Have posted poems for you to see.
And now you've seen what we have brought . . .
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week, in our neighbourhood,
We'll talk of toys and childhood!