How Frail The Memory Poem by C.F. Wilkins

Oh how frail is the memory
Of a forgetful old man,
Who looks for gems of joy
In the veins of his lifespan?

The howling whistle of a train
On a distant, lonely track,
Calls to deeply buried memories
And tries to bring them back.

A red bike, a spotted dog with
A little white pup,
A boy sipping cool water
From a tin dipper cup...

Green and golden June bugs
Flittering through the air,
A screendoor, a front porch
And an old rocking chair...

Momma's good suppers, Grandma's pies,
The old country store,
Juicey peaches, clear blue skies-
Who would guess that we were poor?

Am I too busy to thank God for
These memories that were saved-
Of a time when the wars I would fight
Were in a future yet unpaved?

Oh how happy is the old man
Who remembers these gems of joy,
Buried deep within the heart
Of an innocent little boy.

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'Giving thanks always for all things unto God
and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ; '
Ephesians 5: 20
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