My Grandmother, Margaret (Millikan) McKinley (1917-2007) wrote poetry. I didn’t know about it until she was close to 90 years old. I told her I had found her collection of poems & enjoyed reading them. She said she thought there were plenty of other folks who were more talented. I did put the poems together into a little book that I gave to family members. In all, there were 144 poems. Here is one of them, written October 7, 1935 when Margaret was only 18 years old.
How I love Sunday evenin’ here on the farm
Down in central Indian’
When soft twilight spreads an arm
‘Cross the eastern horizon.
Just to climb to the top of the silo
And view the neighborhood;
Watch the nearby stream a flow
Carryin’ an occasional leaf from the wood.
See the blaze of color in Nature
As Autumn puts on Her gown
Of wonderful hues of azure,
And orange, red, yaller and brown.
That orchard down yander is shinin’
With fruit that’s got to be picked,
And the old vinegar barrel is a pinin’
To get sum more sweet cider fixed.
Thers popcorn over there to gather;
And “sweet taters” yet to dig;
And fire wood to save frum the weather.
And walnuts to save frum the pig.
There’s Mother a callin’ the chickens
And the neighbors are callin’ thers too;
And the pigeons are gitten’ the pickens
Out there where the hogs are through.
A far off sheep bell is tinklin’;
And a sleepy bird warbles “good-night;”
And the cows are in for the milkin’;
And in a winder shines a light.
A few early stars begin tinklin’ and I reckon
The sun’s way down ‘hind the trees in the west.
A church bell rings a clear sweet beckon.
Don’t you love this time o’ day best?
© MJM 2016