May I offer you a chair, and I will tell of a story,
of a time long ago, when I was a little boy.
It was better back then, a life much more slow,
I remember it well, and I will tell what I know;
but, back to the story, a very precious pearl,
for it’s a story of a family, and a little Indian girl.
They lived in a tiny house, in a grove of big oaks.
A poor loving family, good Christian folks,
down a long dirt road, and around a sharp bend,
and there they would be standing, like a long lost friend.
It didn’t matter the weather; snow, rain or shine,
the little Indian girl would be there, with her mother so fine.
I recall when it was winter, with the snow and the cold,
the little Indian girl dressed warm, with a coat that was old.
She would board for school, with her hair long and black,
wave bye to her mother, for she knew we would be back.
Then mother and baby over the bridge made of wood,
to the beautiful trees, where the tiny house stood.
Patiently waiting, upon her return,
for their little girl, who was sent there to learn.
It was bus number six, and the driver was Emery,
and I can see it now, as I pull from my memory.
Then later that day, with my face against the window,
watching a herd of Jerseys, hoping Emery would drive slow.
A little further down the road, beside the oak with the burl,
would be waiting the dear mother, for her little girl.
Sometimes the father, would be standing there too,
holding the little baby, a family waiting so true.
The love of them all is fixed upon my mind,
the smiles upon their faces, hearts that were so kind.
It saddens me deeply, a way of life has vanished like vapor.
So I write down my thoughts, with pen and with paper,
In hopes I can make a difference, in someone’s life,
who may be experiencing chaos, trouble and strife.
It doesn’t have to be that way, if to Jesus we will turn,
search for Him with our hearts, and for purity yearn.
It is then His love, will fill the empty spaces,
speak peace to our souls, and put smiles on our faces.
If my words have helped, in some small way,
give our Father all the praise, and thank Him this day.
And I will forever remember, wrapped tight in a furl,
A loving family, and a little Indian girl.
Michael Everett Jones is a Texas County native, old fashioned historian and purveyor of traditional Christian values. Email ozarksgrandpajones@gmail.com.