The hard true times Within my misty memories of yesteryear I focus upon a heartfelt time to when I was a child of poverty and each day was always a hard climb Simple food, tastey though crude to me was a feast indeed a marrowbone boiled up for soup was fine fayre for a body in need Hand me down clothes that didnt quite fit seemed as good as tailor made threadbare shirt, faded shirt coat well worn and frayed Wintertime with long cold nights we shivered by a small weak fire early to bed to save candlelight was so often our desire Christmas day held no real dismay though poverty hit us one and all we would treasure simple pleasure and no comfort was too small On Christmas Eve I did believe I would recieve some small joy yet an apple and an orange often was in place of a longed for toy On Christmas night in the firelight I would sit happily and content so poor were we yet love was free and used to its full extent Those time I knew and lived through when the little we had was shared love held us all together for we knew that each other cared Material things may mean a lot yet the spirit must be fed and the food that feeds the spirit is as vital as the daily bread We had no envy towards anyone of what we had we were glad we just looked towards the future in the hope that life wouldnt be always bad But the love we knew just grew and grew there was so much love to share in material things I was a pauper yet in spirit a millionaire Aye, thats how it used to be when no one had a penny to their name now we may have more than we need yet our values are not the same We take everything for granted live with envy and false pride the hearts we had when times were bad somewhere in the good times died And within my misty memories when we struggled and were poor I search for the hearts of fine people from the days when hearts were pure
Posted on: Thu, 25 Dec 2014 10:21:27 +0000
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