Looking back in the mirror of time
O’ Where have those years gone
A log cabin filled with love sublime
Not even a phone, a worry or care
Up on Black Bayou Ridge.
A flat-bed wagon stacked high with corn
At the crack of dawn, we left that morn
I was so small, I could barely see,
that long dusty road in front of me.
We came to a clearing, but not for long,
the winding woods filled with song
As we crossed over that rickety bridge
I saw the top of Black Bayou Ridge.
Moss covered trees, in patches of grey.
A shack, in the distance, looked haunted, I’d say.
Leroy Percy Park, where we used to play.
Now, only a dream ... and so far away.
Up on Black Bayou Ridge.
To the grist mill, to grind the corn,
Then to the barn where the mules would stay.
Curious me on this Saturday morn.
As Papa and my Uncle unloaded the hay.
Papa took me to the picture show
Cartoons, projecting a magical sound,
Strange chairs side-by-side, in a row
O’ How I enjoyed this trip to town.
The corn was ground into meal that day
Papa went to the miller to pay
exchanging half corn for half flour,
and money to boot, we left in an hour.
The flour sack prints were all new
With delicate colors of pink and blue
And Mama would work all day long
Sewing me a dress while singing religeous songs.
Still, memories linger in my mind,
About another place, another time.
A warm log cabin, with lanterns, dimly lit,
Beside the fireplace where we would sit.
Years passed by, my burning desire to return
to where my roots had first begun.
The cabin gone, the out-house out back
nothing was left, not even the shack.
In front of the cabin where a pump once stood,
with a large dipper Papa would give me a sip.
a rusty old pipe now covered with wood
not even a trickle, not even a drip.
Let me hear those stories, over again
about the big catfish, that got away.
If only I could have one wish, I would begin
by turning back the hands of a time for a day.
Hard work was the only life they ever knew
Hard work, true grit, and southern born
picking that cotton, shucking that corn
Working in the fields from early morn.
Remember those days, wonder where they went
Cutting out paper dolls, we hadn’t a cent
To buy fancy toys, we were out of luck
We had better use for catalogues
from Sears and Roebuck
So many memories of those days of yore,
And the kin folks who lived there, before
Those precious moments, in the days as we grew
Were all shared together… up on Black Bayou.
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