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Ten

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Back in the 50's Tonight!

A Red Rose

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Robin Fly Away

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The Demise of the Old Cowboy

What Will I Miss?

Ode to Christian "Kiki" Fenot

Bobby and Me

More Poetry >>

The Hobo

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
Copyright…2002





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