Three trains passed by our home many years ago
we children always knew, when to come or go;
A train would pass by in the morning at eight
and by grandma's reckoning, it never was late.
Grandchildren left home by that train for school
a time for us to learn, by grandmas' golden rule;
in a little one room school for grades one to six,
with our English lessons, grammar we would fix.
Then by mid morning math was finished too
now time for recess, my how the time it flew;
Just enough time to eat a pound of cake,
then to wash our piggies down by the lake.
Dick and Jane were read aloud in the class,
until the noon hour, now lunch time at last;
There was often enough food for us to share,
and there was always, something to spare.
Life on our farm, had its ups then its downs,
but in the school room, there were no frowns;
The afternoon, brought smiles with history,
and those who came before us, we would see.
Spelling and manners filled the rest of the day,
and children always knew a proper thing to say;
The second train always tooted sharply at three,
the school day was finished, our spirits set free.
The after school time was for playing in the yard
but we never seemed to tire and played real hard;
By the time the third train blew its whistle blast,
six in the evening signaled the day now had past.
Hurry home and wash for supper grandma laid
on the large oaken table while we had played;
Bowed heads giving thanks for our daily bread,
soon it would be time to be tucked in our bed.
But first to help grandma make the kitchen clean,
all of this continued even when we became a teen;
Now as adults we can still hear the three trains,
etched with childhood memories in all of our brains.
The day arrived when her coffin into the church came
but during the mass, her presence seemed the same;
Love filled the Eucharist with the simplicity of life,
and cut through our sorrow, with a sharp steel knife.
Grandma had left each of us with nothing to forget,
never in her life had she had any thing to regret;
But she was always the one for forgiveness to seek,
we all knew this was not a sign that she was weak.
Now we are much older, our children are growing fast,
we too will give our children something which will last;
Three trains and a grandmother which signal to all,
and one day too we shall hear our Lords final call.
Lord, take charge, we pray of our lives train each day,
the ones which toot at eight, three, six and then say,
always let us remember to thank that gentle engineer
and those in our life, then and now whom we hold dear.
Footnote: Like so many poems, this
one had started with a verse or two, but remained unfinished until the death of
Rey Paul Manas, the 35 year old son of a family who gave my family so much
comfort and understanding after the death of our four month old grand daughter
on April 14, 2002.
During the Mass of Christian Burial which was celebrated at 11:00 A.M. on Tuesday, November 28,
2006 from Saint Dominic Catholic church in Mobile, Alabama, Rey
Paul's brothers and sisters spoke of their wonderful brother and how he touched
and molded their lives, which reminded me of how my grandmother had also changed
the lives of her grandchildren. Now at long last this poem could be
completed as a tribute to two people whose memory will live as a simple
testimony of faith. He has died, has risen and will live again.
I shared the poem with Jean Adams, who captured the
essence of the poem with the graphic. Thank you Jean.
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