(c) 2017 Edward York
My childhood memories come to me,
When I sit and think a while.
I remember how being on grandpa\'s knee,
Would always bring a smile.
He told me about riding cattle drives,
And how they planned their course.
He told me all the things he\'d seen,
From high atop his horse.
The house where he lived had but two rooms,
His heat was an open flame.
There was no running water there,
And his old truck had a name.
The outhouse trail was a narrow path,
And often filled with weeds,
But you could make it fast enough,
Depending on your needs.
I watched my grandma making quilts,
And seemed to cook for fun.
She always wore a homemade dress,
And a bonnet in the sun.
As for what things others had,
They never seemed to care.
What little that they did possess,
They would always share.