On the road all eight we’d go
To Grandma’s farm, it was a show
The distance far but worth the trip
From the dipper we’d take a sip
Up to the table we all stole
My favorite was the sugar bowl
The colored cups with Kool-Aid full
In the fall we’d wear our wool
Inside the barn the calves did roam
From stall to stall the kids would comb
We’d poke our heads at hide and seek
Don’t forget you mustn’t peek
The best of all was the chicken coop
But not until we ate our soup
Then out we’d go above the roost
In the attic, a dream, a boost
It truly was a wonderland
To see and feel and understand
From wooden chairs to coal oil lamps
An old spinning wheel and postage stamps
Mom’s love was the old spinning wheel
She and Grandma they had a deal
With gift in hand and a big wide grin
Back to the city her thoughts would spin
For some time our Mom prepared
The old spinning wheel because she cared
Restoration it did need
Mom’s caring hands would be the seed
What fond memories that wheel must have
Gentle foot upon the wooden staff
Around and round the wheel would whirl
The yarn was spun while kids did curl
Curled around the warm coal stove
One knit blue, the other knit mauve
The old wheel whirred as magic spun
Telling tales as though it sung
If the spinning wheel could talk
Some stories told would fill a clock
Churning out a ton of yarn
About the folks, the home, the barn
The old spinning wheel’s retired now
Like the horse that pulled the plow
After all those years, a halt
It’s weight in gold, it earned it’s salt.
Author notes: This was written about a spinning wheel in the chicken coop on our grandma’s farm. Our mother had fond memories of the spinning wheel.
Wall of Words 