Linen, the smell of fresh crisp clean white linen
You can't capture the smell of linen in a bottle though they try.
When I think of linen, it's with a bitter sweet sigh
I think of my childhood, memories of good times gone by.
Napkins and table cloths with a white embroidered design,
Sunday dinner with aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents so fine
Pot roast or chicken, mashed potatoes and strawberry rhubarb pie.
Hanging on to memories, happy times and some times to cry.
Life was livable and children were sweet, often quiet and shy,
Streets filled with kids on bicycles or roller skates, and kites in the sky.
Air filled with sounds of horns and whistles, a baseball cracking off of a bat,
The shouts of children with laughter and joy, oh the wonderment of all that.
Running after the ice cream truck with a ringing bell,
Cones and Eskimo pies, and Popsicles as well.
Little girls secrets from boys they'll never tell,
Linen, crisp white linen, an unforgettable fresh smell.
Front yards had white picket fences and trellises with climbing roses,
Daisies and Hollyhocks, sweet aromas filled our noses.
Pansies and Tulips, hear the soft sounds of humming bees.
The back yards had bird houses posted to Oak and Maple trees.
Robins and Bluebirds on branches hidden amongst the leaves,
Clothes lines with clothes pins gripping sheets waving in the breeze
Crisp clean linens spreading out against the light blue sky,
So many memories of wonderful times in my life gone by
Author Eileen Clark
I wrote this in the summer of 2013
Image:
kentucky55.wordpress.com 