Jenny picks apples off the apple trees.
Her husband Jed gathers the crops.
Some city slickers think they talk funny,
Their bad grammar and hick accents.
But them city folk don’t know nothin’
about the art of living off the land.
And Jenny and Jed are a damn sight
Smarter than those city slickers
When it comes to practical things.
And those good country folk know
What’s right and what’s wrong
And have better values, and
Humility and goodness in them
Than those smug city slickers.
And if another Depression came,
I’d rather be a Jed and Jenny
Instead of a thinks he’s smarter
than me city slicker standing
Like a beggar in the bread line.
Bob Boyd
Author: BobBoyd
Age 80. Cancer survivor since 3 years ago. Work out 3 times a week. Ride my exercise bike 2 hours a day. Live a solo reclusive life. Retired a year ago from working with the elderly in a nonprofit. Started writing poetry a little over a year ago; most poems I write are fictional but some are not. Spiritual with a permanent spiritual experience. Write poems on many subjects. Always researching for many of my poems and because of my unquenchable thirst for knowledge. After reading and hearing about many near death experiences and death bed visions, I believe death is the ultimate awakening and the relocation of a lifetime. You may believe differently, but you have the right to be wrong -- I'm just messing with you. :-)
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