When we were kids on the farm
We’d gather around the fire
Dressed not in our school clothes
But in every day attire.
The work was done. The brush was piled.
The wood began to glow.
It was the perfect time for hotdogs.
For some sticks we’d have to go.
We would find some long ones
That could safely reach the fire.
We didn’t want to roast ourselves
Or overly perspire.
The end of the stick must be sharpened
By whittling it with a knife.
We were used to making do
It was our way of life.
Just grab a hot dog and stick it
Through the end and then
Place it near hot coals
Turning it again and again.
Some liked hot dogs cooked brown.
Others liked them burnt.
Occasionally they got in the ashes
We preferred them if they weren’t.
Mustard or with catsup
Or just plain in bun,
The taste was always perfect
When the hot dogs were all done
Remember the days of old, Consider the years of many generations. Ask your father, and he will show you; Your elders, and they will tell you.
Deuteronomy 32:7 NKJV
Kommentarer