O, Tommy won’t you come with me
We’ll go up to Beaver Dam
To pick wild plums and cherries
To make the Christmas jam.

The meadow with the creek along
It’s all still much the same
As when my grandpa farmed the land
Along that rocky lane.

These summer days, a gift from God,
This bounty of today
Will soon enough be swallowed up
By Winter’s cold and gray,

So, let’s go now to Beaver Dam;
We’ll brave the August sun,
To share it with the ones we love
When the holidays have come.

07/13/2018

Author's Note: "Memorable Poem" assignment for Ben Lomond Poets

Posted on 07/13/2018
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