Whooo, honey, I told you not to go round that 'ol shed.
Now look what happened, you should have listened to what grandmam said.
He done stung you good and caused a whelp.
You sit tight while I go to the house for help.
Soon she came carrying a clean cotton rag.
In the other, a poltice type of salve.
That 'ol wasp made a hurt on you for sure,
But don't you fret cause Grandmam got the cure.
That 'ol jacket will go to his grave.
Grandmam is here the day to save.
Now, don't you go near that 'ol shed no more.
The jackets will sting you again for 'shore.
Back in the day, Grandmams knew just what to do.
Now, if the doc can't prescribe it, we haven't a clue.
© By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@msn.com)
Watch these pages for more poems by Phyllis Ann.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.
You Grow Cold
A Visit To The Falls
Savor The Season
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