Not a lot of perks or privilege
In the caverns of
my humble youth.
We didn’t know we
were poor at the time
If you really want
to know the truth.
All of the people
that we knew
Were living pretty
much the same,
Except, of course,
those precious few
Who didn’t bother
to know our name.
No caviar on our
daily buffet,
No crepes or
kabobs were ever seen.
But hunger was
never an issue as long as
We had cornbread,
taters and beans.
The clothes on our
backs?
Some were
hand-me-downs
Garnered from relatives,
neighbors and friends.
We didn’t consider
it charity,
Just a kindly
means to a worthwhile end.
Through work or
play we ended each day
Sleeping each
night in a creaky bed
Snuggled so deep
under Mom’s hand-stitched quilts,
Thankful to have a
roof over our heads.
Hardscrabble
country life,
Just getting
along.
Sundays we ride
the pews
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