John F. McCullagh

Gold Star - 5,508 Points (09/28/1954 / Flushing)

Newcastle,1936 - Poem by John F. McCullagh

In a humble little cottage
in a poorer part of town.
A tea kettle was whistling,
And the rain was pouring down.

Grandpa turned back from the window,
To where “mother” poured the tea.
“I’ve made some soda bread,
why don’t you come an sit with me? ”

Grandpa did as he was bidden-
A cup of tea was just the thing,
in a delicate bone china cup
which bore a picture of the King.

As a stranger in a strange realm
He had worked the mines for years.
He had put food on the table,
He had endured this vale of tears.

Now the world he knew was gone
And work was hard to find
Germany was rising
Which sons would war take this time?

Back when he was young and strong,
with no hostages to time.
He’d had the change to turn his back
on England’s harsher clime.

But then “mother’s” hair was golden
Her eyes a baby blue
Thoughts of leaving for America
paled next to thoughts of you.

He’d longed to travel far and wide
And see all sides of things.
He’d settled for his books and maps.
Some thoughts were childish dreams.

In a humble little cottage
in a poorer part of town.
A tea kettle was whistling,
And the rain was pouring down

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, May 15, 2011

Poem Edited: Sunday, May 15, 2011


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