She was glad for the thawing.
One horse buggy
With eight year old
Alongside
In pretty maroon dress.
Delightful clopping song
Of decades past.
Transport rigs were few
But how they roared
In passing her.
The horse might miss
A step into the margin
Of gravel.
She remembered, only
Forty-five minutes out.
Then home for baking
Three dozen shortbreads.
And washing a rainbow
Batch of gay coloured laundry.
Clothes line soon flapping.
Singing to herself
Bringing in the Sheaves.
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