Was I so poor
in those damned days
that I went in the dark
in torn shoes
to steal fat ears
of cattle corn
from the good cows
and pound them
like hard maize
on my worn Aztec
stone? I was.
Photo: My grandpa, Cecil, whose life was a succession of hard times punctuated with the births of 11 children, glorious rabbit hunts, the love of a round woman, coon dogs and beagles, faith in God, and a daily dose of strong coffee, hot biscuits, and nicotine.
Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard Times, hard times, come again no more
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
Oh hard times come again no more.
(Chorus “Hard Times Come Again No More” by Stephen Foster)