The good old Days
are like antiques
the older they get
The more beautiful
In the quite I walk the roads of my mind
back to a time when I was a young girl
when I believed there were a pot of gold
at the end of a rainbow.
That tiny little people lived inside
our battery powered radio,
and did all the talking
like the long Ranger and Tonto and silver.
Sometimes when the wind was just right
I could hear the train whistle
Daddy said the wind carried the sound.
Those were the peaceful happy times
when the simple little things was a joy
playing with paper dolls
cut out of the sears and roebuck catalog.
Making dresses for my one store bought doll
but most of all I loved being a tomboy
running wild in the woods.
Climbing trees swinging on grape vines
a pair of stilts and a sling shot
were my favorite home made toys
Playing hide and seek
with my sisters and brothers
chewing rabbit tobacco with my cousin
it tasted bad but we wouldn't admit it to each other.
My country was a beautiful place for a child
there were no streets or side walks or towns nearby.
Just Dirt roads blackberry patches and garden's
walnut trees high mountains and a big old sky.
But one can walk the roads of their mind
just so long because the world of today
comes roaring in.Where one can look out the door
and see paved streets and side walks
and little patches of trees here and there.
But I am still a country girl living
among Gas stations and car lots on ever corner.
But the dirt road to my country place
is still there in my mind in a place
where I put all of my good memories
a place I walk back too
when life's troubles get to hard to face.
Clara Strickland Brinkley