When I Was Young
In old southern memories,
Everyone said they picked cotton,
Bragged about their young sore knees,
How hot, that time not forgotton.
Slavery past, thank goodness for that!
But that left our folks to do that hard work
To brag about how hard they had it,
Was one of few old age perks.
Old men remembered
“I picked in the sun row after row,
Papa made us help in the fields
When we were just goin’ on six yar old.”
Old women’s two cents, “I had Junior outdoors
Under a wagon’s shade in the cotton patch,
Got back up and started pickin’ again,
Went home, cooked, fed chickens to hatch.
We old folks like to put it on thick,
So we now know now our parents did,
We can’t often claim we worked two rows at a time,
But in our own way enter our “When I was young,” bid.
Our children will tell of twelve hour mad days,
The hassles it took to just catch a plane,
They’ll tell of the storms of two thousand ten,
Their rat race “when I was young’ game.
By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)