Those Were The Days
Here's to the days of childhood, to the days of yesteryear,
to big bologna sandwiches, to dirt behind the ears.
Here's to the days of lying upon the cool green grass,
of watching puffy clouds go by, to Kool-Aid by the glass.
Here's to watermelons, icy cold and pink;
to lightning bugs and crickets, and nights as black as ink.
Here's to fried potatoes, to pintos and cornbread,
to Sunday's hot fried chicken and Grandma's feather bed.
Here's to fresh tomatoes, red and hot and sweet
when we tiptoed through the garden, mud squishing 'round our feet.
Here's to our tree climbing, to dumplings in the pot,
blackberries picked so early before the sun got hot.
Here's to gloppy oatmeal, that breakfast mild and bleak;
and now it's just the greatest thing that health nuts rave and seek.
Here's to great bicycles and jump-ropes and to jacks,
to power built in slingshots, to canned food stacked in racks.
Here's to the days when weekly baths were really in a tub
set out in the sun to warm, and ®Jergen's soap to scrub.
Here's to sweat and panting and hoping for a rain
that would cool the blistering heat and help to keep us sane.
Here's to standing on your head and seeing upside down,
to pitching and to batting balls, to acting like a clown.
Here's to the spark and crackle, watching through the cracks
of the old coal stove in the dining room, to hoecakes by the stacks.
Here's to the quiet evenings before TV arrived,
to twangy country music, no rock and roll alive.
Here's to Christmas magic so early Christmas morn
when we whispered and we giggled - "Santa!" - we'd have sworn.
Here's to slipping into church barefoot and eating bread,
piano rolling out those songs, "There's love in here!" it said.
Here's to drive-in movies, to ball games in the park,
to playing games of kick-the-can and hide-'n-seek at dark.
Here's to the squeak of the swing chain when we took a Sunday ride;
to the slapping of mosquitoes; "Hey, it's time to get inside!"
Here's to the Norfolk ferry, and one to Gloucester's shore,
to trips down to the boat yard, to oysters then galore.
Here's to the path to the outback, that lowly one room shack;
well, it really wasn't all that great, standing looking back.
Here's to the old ®Sears catalog and all it represents;
those days it was more useful than it's ever been used since.
Here's to the days of sleeping with everything unlocked,
when people coming by the house were only friends that stopped.
Here's to speaking reverently the holy name of God;
to honor, truth, simplicity, to all American sod.
Here's to the country where we live, to city, street and land,
to all the folks abiding here, to mountain and to sand.
Here's to the home and family, to children, Mom and Dad;
here's to the days of yesteryear, the best I've ever had!!
Doris S. Jamison,
Copyright © 1998
All rights reserved
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