My ink is drying up and my pen no longer writes smooth This just can't happen now, to many thoughts I will loose Fading away this old body, still more to write, to be heard My memories and precious images are becoming a bit blurred
My hand shakes, the paper gets wrinkled as I write so fast But I must write quickly while the thoughts in there still last Some verses, as I write I laugh, often things were very funny Then the sad things, my tears make the ink blurred and runny
So pass my writings down to every family child that arrives Never just store them away in some back room archives May the pages look well read, the corners torn and tattered It will be a way of telling me, to you my poems mattered
I got a letter from a very old friend She said my grandma's life has come to an end My grandma lived so many miles and states away I tried to get her to move, she said it's here I'll stay
There was a time the farm was pretty nice In my younger years I stayed there once or twice My friend said there's no point in you traveling out here The place is so run down you couldn't trade it for a case of beer
So I went there anyway because I figured what have I got to loose The farm is a shack on a dirt road and all I got is dirt in my shoes As the dust settled down something was becoming clear for me to see Hanging on the railing was a quilt and nearby her dog covered with fleas
Looking all around this barren land thinking well isn't this just my luck
Finding the right folks and do some fancy talking I might make a few bucks
As I was doing my planning I spotted a tattered note pinned to the quilt
It said, pull a few threads, in the lining there's enough for a mansion to be built
Author Eileen Clark 2022
Beautiful Painting by Bob Timberlake ~ collectiblesandarts.com
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