once upon a time
remember the time when you were nine
you drove Dad’s Frazer
the one that wore a printer’s cap
down the hill
into the bottom
with Larry and me
perched on the bumper
like footmen
on a silver coach
we went round and round
making circles
in the tall grass
Mother rang the dinner bell
frantic
fearing we’d end up in the creek
Daddy came running from the woods
shotgun on his shoulder
called from his hunting
to rescue
three musketeers.
Nancy L. Meade
(To David from Sis)
Heritage (For My Father)
I see you sitting two pews in front of me, your broad shoulders rising above the royal blue padding and the polished wood. Your white head is wreathed in rays of purple and blue and gold, as the sunlight passes through the stained-glass window saying “I Am The Way” and frames you where you sit with white head bowed.
And memories of my childhood appear, like old friends, familiar, yet long since forgotten. Memories of a time when I sat beside you, my feet not reaching the floor. And two pews in front of us, your father sat, his white head bowed in prayer.
But the pews were not padded and polished wood, but hard oaken benches, rough hewn. The windows were not stained glass, but unadorned clear panes. And the floors were not carpeted, just planking, oiled to keep down the dust. And the old pot-bellied stove gave heat, too much to those who sat nearby.
And though the scene is different, it is the same somehow. For Pa lives on in you and you in me. And I see the years fall away and in your place I sit with white head bowed…
Nancy L, Meade
(In gratitude for my godly heritage)
remember the time when you were nine
you drove Dad’s Frazer
the one that wore a printer’s cap
down the hill
into the bottom
with Larry and me
perched on the bumper
like footmen
on a silver coach
we went round and round
making circles
in the tall grass
Mother rang the dinner bell
frantic
fearing we’d end up in the creek
Daddy came running from the woods
shotgun on his shoulder
called from his hunting
to rescue
three musketeers.
Nancy L. Meade
(To David from Sis)
Heritage (For My Father)
I see you sitting two pews in front of me, your broad shoulders rising above the royal blue padding and the polished wood. Your white head is wreathed in rays of purple and blue and gold, as the sunlight passes through the stained-glass window saying “I Am The Way” and frames you where you sit with white head bowed.
And memories of my childhood appear, like old friends, familiar, yet long since forgotten. Memories of a time when I sat beside you, my feet not reaching the floor. And two pews in front of us, your father sat, his white head bowed in prayer.
But the pews were not padded and polished wood, but hard oaken benches, rough hewn. The windows were not stained glass, but unadorned clear panes. And the floors were not carpeted, just planking, oiled to keep down the dust. And the old pot-bellied stove gave heat, too much to those who sat nearby.
And though the scene is different, it is the same somehow. For Pa lives on in you and you in me. And I see the years fall away and in your place I sit with white head bowed…
Nancy L, Meade
(In gratitude for my godly heritage)