106251  Poems Read Home Login

 Heart Songs

donnadelongmatthewspoet5170poetic2050silverbirchpreciouspoetessalwaysawarriordiggerdjohnmcguckin78gmailcompoetryofadovepupwee
The Saga Of Grandpa Miller


 


The Saga of Grandpa Miller






Tucked away in the Kentucky hills
Back in the days we now call old
Lived a man named Granville Miller
His story now to be told

It is the story passed from a Mother
Of her Father ~ To her Son

So many years now have come and gone
Since this story first begun
I record now in part
A bit of my Husband's family history
To be passed on in years to come


Granville was
A very tall and lanky man
His eyesight poorly blessed
Fashion he had no need for
He owned only one Sunday best

Known for his bluegrass music
That rang throughout the hills
His banjo his constant companion
It is with our family still

A leader in his community
He always was the one
That would reach into his pocket
To find a way to help someone


He would become the father
Of five daughters
Six boys were to become his sons
With so many hungry mouths to feed
His task was not an easy one


In the hills of his Kentucky home
He owned the General Store
His neighbors came to buy his wares
And as soon seen ~ a little more

I can somehow see a picture
Of his store within those hills
Who knows
In the mountains of Kentucky
It may be standing still

Along far wall I envision sacks of grain
Some powder and a few guns
Some shelves holding cans made by his hands
Home-made toys for little ones

Wood planked floors
With cracks galore
That saw the ground below
Bolts of material
Of a modest print
For the ladies hands to sew


It seemes that Granville gave away
Much more than he sold
He never turned away a family
Once their story he had been told

He bartered some and ran a tab
Which was the custom of the day
Times were hard for everyone
So he was seldom paid

He had to feed his family
He did the best he could
Within the poverty of his day
The 'living' wasn't good


Then came the days of prohibition
Had the battle somehow been won
Surely far within the hills of Kentucky
Revenuer's would not come

They would be looking for the runners
That delivered from the stills
They wouldn't look for a family man
With a country store within the hills

So he added to his little store
A room guarded from the back
He didn't run the moonshine
But that is all he lacked

Within that room in mason jars
He sold another ware ~
Jars of homemade White Lightening
Its quality uncompared

Mountain men and whiskey
A true Hillbilly's dream
They came from afar to take the jars
All was well it seemed

This added bit of extra change
Helped keep his family fed
But he knew the chances he was taking
Each night when he climbed into his bed

He prayed to God Almighty
For him to somehow understand
The only thing he could think to do
To provide a little extra for his family clan


They came with guns and handcuffs
Just as he feared they would one day
Who supplied his moonshine?
Of course he wouldn't say

Just a simple little storefront
When the law stopped by that day
They found the room quite easily
Someone had given him away

Two years he spent in prison
Away from his family and his home
The gentle giant of the mountains
Sat in prison all alone


His only crime ~ The whiskey
Just a little of the law outside
In the absence of his banjo
The mountains truly cried


He returned to raise his family
Mostly still within those hills
His General Store held nothing more
Than groceries and good will

Times had become a little easier
With the passing of the years
And he figured God had spoken
Making his message very clear



He was the grandfather
Of many grandchildren
When I met this charming man
His age showed upon his rugged face
But still strong were the musician's hands

Upon his knee he placed my son
The son of his daughter's child
My son far too young to realize
That upon him God had smiled

My son's father knew the blessing
He remembered back to when he was young
The banjo played as in olden days
But Granville now played for two grandsons


Three generations sat before me
One held his banjo
One held his guitar
One sat too young to realize
Generations wonderous star


So many years behind him now
I wondered of the man
That now so gently held my son
Within his withered hands

I was told he owned some fishing lakes
A few houses bought and sold
This aging man with banjo still in hand
Had riches yet fortold


So for you Dear Grandpa Miller
I record this for your grandson
To tell but just some of your story
To be passed on to our generations to come


Ninety-eight years upon this earth
To us you are no more
But I bet in the halls of heaven
You run the General Store





View All My Poems
Feedback Welcomed
 

AspiringAngel




 







©2000 - 2022, Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.

Visit My Home Page | Start Your Own Poetry Site | PoetryPoem
[ Control Panel ]  [ Today's Poetry - ALL Poets ]   [ Search ]