I am from a bustling kitchen's clanks and clatters;
the chorus,
of supper fast approaching.
From us kids playing with our broken hammy down toys,
that to us,
were like gold.
A product, of that vast field of wild sunflowers,
past the mail box,
where humble homes now stand.
And the front yard that held an invisible force field;
that we dare not cross,
lest we face the wrath of the wooden spoon.
From the simmering smell of fideo on the kitchen stove;
a whopping price of 27 cents a box,
that fed us all.
And of a fresh pot of tea,
boiled just for dad.
Of John 3:16;
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, and whom shall ever believe in him, shall not perish, but have ever lasting life."
Of "Get up, get out, and prove them wrong."
The result, of my mother, a lady, of unyielding faith;
With a song
For every sentence said.
From my father, whose 14 hour,
graveyard shifts,
kept us treading water.
I am a ballad of struggle,
Of blessings
And of lessons.
One that rings out proudly,
deep within my heart.
