Written By:   Birl Brown

In the twenties, hard and flinty,

Could one see that time restored,

Watch the cotton wagon’s plenty,

Gin-bound, down a dusty road.

Watch the small ones follow after

The frozen blocks ice-wagons stow,

canvas covered, and their laughter,

Hands out, catching ice-saw snow.  

Folks would call out to the vender

For the size of chunk they lack:

“I would like a dime’s worth, Mister,”

And it clung tongs on his back.

The melting ice went down a pipe

Into a drain-pan placed below,

Unless they used the floor-hole type,

To funnel out the melting flow.

Boys were busy swapping steelies 

Or carving yo yo’s with their knives;

                     Girls were usually dressing dollys

Or making mince mud pies.

Most did kites and jumping ropes,

Some would cleverly seek to try

Slingshots, made from tubes, in hopes