Memories

Mama used to rock me in the whacky-bang chair

While words of Bye Oh Baby sweetly filled the air

She would rock me and pat me until asleep for the night

Then lay me down and tuck me in tight

The very thought brings joy and a smile to my face

Fond memories of childhood can never be replaced

Helen Hunt Jackson’s poem, September

She would quote and boast I still remember

She would speak of Zane Gray and the books that he wrote

“Rider’s of the Purple Sage” was her favorite to note

She loved to cook, sew and grow in the garden

She was slow to anger and quick to pardon

Uneducated but intelligent beyond measure

Her every word without a doubt a treasure

Simple to most but those who knew her well

Knew of a story simple words could never tell

The meals she cooked would rival any chef’s

Using only the ingredients she had on the shelf

Flowers so beautiful one of every kind

That’s where she spent a lot of her time

Memories of childhood a complete delight

Great to brighten my day or night

Take a look back and I’m sure you will find

Those treasured memories way back in your mind