Where went the days
When I was young,
When I chased the
Whirling golden leaves,
And picked the fox grapes
Where they clung,
And skinned the bark
From the persimmon trees.
The hazelnuts they
Should be brown,
And the juicy blackhaws
Over on the glade.
The blueberries, too,
And the hickory town,
And the tastiest
Watercress, God ever made.
* * *
To-Flo-Eva, and Steave.
By-Granny James….
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