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The Warmth of Home by Martha Fuller January 3, 2007 Our porcelain kitchen table, With its green border trim, Huddles alongside wooden, painted chairs Whose spindles are worn thin; And squarely on its center, A pottery pitcher sits. Jelly glasses to serve beverages, Greet my fingertips! The tin dish with bacon drippings: What a delight to see! I tip the wire toaster racks, Offering crunchy bread to you and me! Niagara-Falls salt and peppers Bring forth memories, While crocheted doilies flutter In haunting, - palpitating breeze. Many's the time we children robbed That Aunt Jemima cookie jar! Dad's near-by Philco brought in stations, From towns, - both near and far. The Hoosier Cupboard offers spoons, Sugar, tea, - and more! Just hang your coat on the towering rack, Beside the patched, screen door. I'm happy, I can still return To our hearth, from long ago, Rest my feet on Sis' braided rug, Glide in Mom's rocker, to and fro. Yet, I must make concessions, For sadly, there's just one place I see, Where I find this source of consolation: That one scene, that means so much to me, That spot we each remember, And sometimes yearn to be (With contented souls from days gone by, Beside our Mother's knee.) Yes, I languish there quite often, Whene'er I venture forth, Down Center Street to Fifth and Grand, And take a turn on North, Then step inside that sweet abode, And soak, in atmosphere galore, At the friendly Mom's and Pop's Corner Antique Store! About the author: Just a sentimental old gal! | | | |
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