Four Year Old's Lesson

When I was four, we moved today,
April first, long years away.
We moved with cows, pigs, chickens too,
even pheasants, home grown, a few,
to farm house on a hill so high
although weather beaten--a sigh,
the view below, magnificent,
could have made us glad we went.
Why, to four-year-old not known.

The days were much like this same day,
not so many miles away.
patches of snow lingered below,
mud on boots and raw winds blow.
But, the scene when looking back,
reminds me, much I do not lack,
patched tarpaper torn and black
obstacles set Mama back:
How now to make a home?

Time has passed,I think it was grit
that made them try and never quit.
that made me grow to search and see,
although sometimes, it was we
that got me perching higher up
someone beside me saying, Yup.'
I could do it if I try,
or sometimes just got by.
But I learned back at age four,
to give myself a better score,
when instead of just get by,
I'd try.

We scraped loose paint and calcimine,
we put the paving stones in line;
tear off ;loose siding, paint the trim.
Daddy smiled when we helped him.
Held the boards while Grandpa nailed;
it seemed with help we really sailed.
When Mama painted one room blue
we all helped her paint another too'.
The sighs that came from paint so chipped.
a four year old just laughed, and skipped.
and thought, I helped a little bit.
That seemed to make the best of it.
and so as years and years go by,
I try.