Birdie, oh how we remember the party line,
Sharing the same connection, the same time,
Mornings filled with the same routines,
The same struggles and the same dreams.
Mrs. Clark always by the black telephone,
Listening for another voice, never alone,
If someone else was there to share,
She\'d go back to her chores without a care.
She\'d fold baby clothes with gentle hands,
Cut coupons, maybe iron a shirt that stands,
Against the challenges of the family farm,
Where everything needed her loving charm.
The kitchen sink would drip with water,
The tractor roar, the dog\'s endless yammer,
But Mrs. Clark would never be deterred,
She\'d keep going, her spirit undeterred.
She\'d smooth her dress, printed with chickens and fences,
And think of the tasks that needed her senses,
To cook rice, chop veggies with care,
And save the best part of the pork to share.
At a quarter to five, she\'d make the call,
To her sister-in-law, no time to stall,
To share the day\'s accomplishments, big and small,
And plan red beans for supper, a shared protocol.
Two southern women, living the same life,
Supporting each other through joy and strife,
Connected by more than just the party line,
A bond of strength and love that will always shine. (\"Party Line\") by Courtney Weaver Jr.