My Only Son
War is Hell!
Time is a Thief!
Ode to T/Sgt. Glenn Wilson
Never To Late!
NOTHING EVER CHANGES
In the Autumn of my Life
"Nothing is Forever!"
I AM AN AMERICAN
In the Eye of the Tiger
A Conversation between My Cat and Dog
If, I Had It All To Do Over!
A Portrait of my Life
Fifty Years of Tears
Do You Remember When?
Ain't That a Shame?
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I knew a hobo once when I was a little tot,
he'd come to our back door and ask for a little food,
but not a lot.
His overalls were tattered and torn and
patches they did adorn.
His old blue shirt was soiled and worn,
but his smile was big and warm.
He'd cut firewood for an hour are so, to
pay for the plate of biscuits and gravy
before he'd go.
He'd always say;
"Boy, do you know how
lucky you are to have a
Mom that can cook biscuits
and gravy that way?"
And I'd reply; "Yes-sir,
she cooks like that for me everyday!"
He'd tell me short stories about riding
in a boxcar on the train to fare off places,
like Colorado are Maine.
I've often wondered over the years,
what happen to the hobo with the big smile,
who told me of high mountains and animals in the wild.
I hope he had all the biscuits and gravy he could eat.
For you see…
He was a gentleman of a different time and keep.
Jasckie R. Kays
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