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Down in a meadow where the green grass grows
Is a little swamp where the clear water flows.
Up on the hillside stands a little old shack
YVhere the boards are rickety and the windows crack
Down from the house leads a long crooked path,
Down to the creek where the bull-frogs pass.
Down in the meadow where the lilies grow
Stands a tumble-down shed where the roosters crow.
The owner is old and walks with a cane,
But he hasn't any children to give the blame.
He wears an old hat that is battered and torn,
But he doesn't mind if his clothes are worn.
He hasn't any neighbors for miles around,
And he seldom ever walks to town.
He has only the creek that is flowing by
To keep him company until he must die.
. Virgil Bailey.
Can you remember long ago
VVhen Grandma was a child?
They really did have fun, you know,
But never acted wild.
It wasn't like it is today,
VVe modern folk are brighter,
YVe've trained the world to go our way,
And made young spirits lighter.
XVhen we have fun, we celebrate,
No matter the occasion.
Dull parties with us never rate
On any school vacation.
If Grandma could just see us now,
She'd blush and blush for shameg
For when she left her one last vow
VVas "Good things stay the same."