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Songs Learnt at Daddy's Knee

by Fredrich Mohre

My Pa warn't much for music,
Not like ya hear today.
The tune he learnt and taught me,
Were from a bygone day.
But Saturday nights were special;
At least they were to me.
Cause that was when we'd play them songs
I learnt at Daddy's knee.

Bald headed as a cue ball,
He'd grin from ear to ear.
He'd hum and play, and out would come
The music I'd revere.
He'd plunk his old five-stringer,
I'd make my old blues harp sing.
Ole Blue would start a-howling,
Till you couldn’t hear a thing.

Then Ma sung "Rock of Ages"
Her voice was pure delight.
The cats and dogs got terrorized,
And ran of into the night.
We'd continue our commotion,
Then really harmonize.
You knew the blend was perfect,
'Cause there'd be tears in Papa's eye.

Them old songs, sad and poignant,
Would soak you to the bone.
You could hear an old train whistle,
Or feel the chain gang moan.
Stooped right there with the slave man,
As he toiled out in the sun.
Or I'd sense the wild Missouri,
Watch it ripple, see it run.

We'd walk streets of Laredo,
A poor cowboy in the dirt,
His last request while dying,
With blood caked on his shirt.
Special words and music,
At least they were to me.
Sad old songs, just known to us,
Learnt there at Daddy's knee.

Well, Pa's been gone for ages,
Though it seems like yesterday,
When we would play together,
The world would flow away.
There's night your mind just wanders back,
On how it used to be.
So long ago, in simple times,
And the music at his knee.

I'll grasp my old harmonica,
Now cracked and full of rust.
Then squeak and squawk a couple notes,
And soon there's only us.
Out'a nowhere comes the fragrance
Of heady mountain dew.
Smoke rolling from a wood stove,
As it dances up the flue.

As I fall back to Laredo,
The chain gang hammers ring,
Taste dust from Georgia cotton fields,
As my harp begins to sing.
And then I hear his banjo,
I sense his presence near,
Oh God, I loved this music,
That only I can hear.

While in my head we're playing
And truly harmonize.
It must be close to perfect,
Tears mist my weathered eyes.
Again, we play together,
Just like it used to be.
For only I now know the songs
I learned at Daddy's knee....

03/23/2005

Posted on 03/23/2005
Copyright © 2026 Fredrich Mohre

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Mary Ellen Smith on 03/24/05 at 04:01 AM

Fredrich...you are a wonderful storyteller! This is one I am adding to my favorites!

Posted by Mike Loftis on 03/24/08 at 02:11 PM

I believe I discoveed a poet this morning. You have a great way with the word.

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