Some folks talk of the "good old days"
When Grandma was a lass;
They tell us things were better then,
And they're sad to see them pass.
Well, I made jelly, canned the corn,
Spent hours at the churn;
Fed the hired hands, baked the pies,
And at weedin' took my turn.
I carried out the chamber pots,
Plucked feathers for my bed;
Scrubbed all the clothes upon a board,
Stoked fires and made the bread.
I fed the ducks and chickens,
Picked berries in the bog.
My only entertainemnt was
Sears-Roebuck's catalog.
I made the scrapple, kraut and soap,
And all the children's togs.
Then, if I had some time to spare,
I helpe at butcherin' hogs.
I raised a pack of droolin' kids,
Was doctor, farmhand, wife.
There was no respite from the chores--
It was a gruelin' life.
The children walked three miles through snow,
Before they reached the school.
I often went to bring them home
Upon our old gray mule.
I scraped and scoured from morn till night.
And to make my day complete
I hopped into an icy bed
With hot bricks at my feet.
I milked our old cow twice a day
And often chopped some wood,
If these were the "good old days,"
I'm glad they're gone for good.
"Anonymous"
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