Those were the days
And what a time was had
Sitting around the kitchen table
A-heeing and a-hawing to those Blue Grass lyrics
Dad singing and strumming
With the boys by his side.
Those were the days
The music flowed
Them hurting songs
Made you want to sing along
Picking and strumming those Country hits.
Those were the days
What a time we had
Dancing the night away
Weekend in
And weekend out
We partied all weekend long.
Those were the days
Those were the times
The music’s done
The old man’s gone
And the boys moved on.
Those were the days…
—Robert Confiant 16 July 2018
I normally don’t comment on my own post.but I thought I would share this:
I wrote this verse on thinking about how poets I read sometimes tell stories in there poems about their environment, some experience (emotional or real-life. I told myself, “I could do that,” and I sat there and wrote this in Evernote app in my cell. The first draft took me 15 minutes. I tweaked it a bit this evening before I posted this. I will probably always be tweaked at (it’s just a writer thing – nothing is never truly complete for a writer).
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