the best of days, as I remember,
All through the summer into September.
Those days were spent on Granddad's farm.
All of his 'old junk' had such charm.
We loved to play on his old plows.
The boys even liked to ride on his cows.
If they got caught they'd get into trouble,
Granddad would quickly burst their bubble.
We hoed cotton during the week.
Each evening was spent at the creek.
We'd jump in the water to cool down,
Playing around acting like clowns.
We would jump from the loft in the barn.
We knew better cause we'd been warned.
I believe God protected us from harm.
Those days back then on the farm.
The old place is deserted and forgotten now
Worked by Granddad and the sweat of his brow.
The old tractor and plows sit down at the store
Our sweet days of play to see nevermore.
To every thing there is a season, and a
time to every purpose under the heaven..