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, candles and table cloths, white with white design, Ready for Sunday dinner with aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents so fine, Pot roast, chicken, mashed potatoes and strawberry rhubarb pie. Linen, fresh clean memories, happy times gone by. Life was livable and children were sweet and quiet and shy, Streets filled with bicycles and roller skates, marbles and jacks and kites in the sky. Air filled with sounds of horns and whistles, a baseball cracking off the tip of a bat, The shouts of children with laughter and glee, 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 linen, good memories, and oh such a fresh smell. The front yards had white picket fences and trellises with climbing Tea Roses, Bachelor Buttons, 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 Willow, Oak, and Maple trees. Robins and Bluebirds on branches hidden amongst the leaves, And always clothes lines and clothes pins gripping white linen sheets waving in the breeze. Crisp white clean linens spreading out against the blue sky, So many memories of wonderful times in my life gone by. Author Eileen Clark
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