By G. E. Shuman
I’ve often read of the ‘olden days’
And the ways people lived ‘back when’;
Of horses and buggies, of wagons and sleighs
And of trust and honor in men.
Life was a tough and trying test
That helped people do more good.
As if, when there’s less, men become their best
And rise to the place that they should.
The few things folks had were made to last
And were fixed, when they broke, not just thrown.
Most things were of wood, hand-carved, nailed fast;
Not the plastic-y junk that we own.
The men were strong, and worked all their lives
So proud, to toil, to succeed.
The women were treasured as mothers and wives
And the family cherished, indeed.
The big family Bible was opened, and shared
Round the stove in the parlor each night,
In the old rugged home, filled with folks who cared
For each other, with all of their might.
Sometimes I think I’m alive too late;
That my days would have been better spent
Born in time long past, on a simpler date
When everyone said what they meant.
Life was slower, back in those days of old
When each person helped out where they could.
The men were of steel, the women were gold
And things were made out of wood.
