Remembering

These sisters share memories in the sun, day after day. One born in 1919, the other in 1922.

They rode to school on horseback, milked cows, gathered eggs, read by oil lamp.

They are mothers, grandmothers, great grandmothers and great-great grandmothers.

Today they were remembering poems from childhood. This is one of them.

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,

The prettiest doll in the world;

Her cheeks were so red and white, dears,

And her hair was so charmingly curled.

But I lost my poor little doll, dears,

As I played in the heath one day;

And I cried for her more than a week, dears,

But I never could find where she lay.

I found my poor little doll, dears,

As I played in the heath one day;

Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,

For her paint is all washed away,

And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears,

And her hair not the least bit curled;

Yet for old sakes’ sake, she is still, dears,

The prettiest doll in the world.