Just an old tree stump,
big old stump in the middle of the lot.
It was a black walnut tree;
remember sitting under it and
cracking walnuts.


Supposed to crack a cup for Ma,
she was going to make some fudge,
but it seemed I always forgot,
cracked those nuts
and ate them up.


After school, friends would come over,
pick up a sack to take home
to their mothers.
We would crack and eat,
always feeding our hungry faces.


When they cut it down,
Poppa showed me how to count the rings.
That old tree was over ninety years old;
it was grown, when poppa was a boy,
planted by my grand-dad.


Now we have a large apple tree;
stole an apple and planted the seeds.
Three saplings grew,
Twisted them together into one,
Great big apple tree it became.


Now grandsons enjoy it so,
as I hobble around with a stick.
Try to knock off a big red apple,
makes them all so happy;
I remember back when.


Won’t be long, that I know,
me and that old apple tree will go.
both of us are getting old,
soon we, too, will be gone.


Wonder who will sit
on the old walnut stump,
looking about, wondering too,
thinking about the old stump;
wonder if anyone will remember me?



© By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)














         

 

 






Touching

November

After the Harvest ( Several Authors )

Thanksgiving Day ( Several Authors )

Wee Angels

Plymouth Rock

In Love With Maine ( A slide show )




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