Gad! The table was piled high
Of mashed potatoes and chicken fry.
Ura May’s little family once again
Filled the old ranch house with what had been
Of happy laughter and children’s ways
A tale just like our own other days.
“I love your dishes that hold brands,
Wonder who all they are and what stands,
Still left of corral and barn and stall,
There on some other place to fall?”
Ura May was used to my endless questions
Since childhood here on these land’s bastions.
Hurried she around the kitchen and dining table,
“Come on, help me,” She turned to me, straight faced.
And I, the teen, straightened up to duty and joined her pace.