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A Conversation between My Cat and Dog

If, I Had It All To Do Over!

Twilight Honor

A Portrait of my Life

Fifty Years of Tears



Eternal Rest

Do You Remember When?

Mirrow Reflctions

Who Knew?

"Jack Who?"

Ain't That a Shame?

Hopefully, They will Say...

Does It Matter?

Love Found

Who Knew?

My Little Dog named-Art

Yesterday's Autumn

A Bowl of Cheers?

I Say!

My Quest

Near Miss

Dreams of Yesterday

Do You Remember?

Ten

When is it all going to end?

Sleep

Just Let It Be

La Vie en Rose

Heads in the Sand?

If I've Learned Anything!

Silver Bullet

The Path We Choose

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
Copyright2002





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