Take a chair by the fireplace, mister. Pull up, s'r, pull up to the blaze!
Cheerfuler some than an air-tight, hey? Too many air-tights these days!
But that ain't a matter to harp on--complainin' isn't my style:
Do you notice that rug where ye're sittin? Let me tell ye 'bout that
for a while.
That's an old hooked rug; just burlap with snippin's o' rags looped through-
A hit-or-miss pattern they call it; it looked pretty smart when t'was new.
Some fami'lies have his'ries about 'em an' docyments filed away,
But ourn hain't ever done nothin' that his'rys can find to say,
Yet next to my Bible, mister, the readin' I like the best
I find right there in that old hooked rug, when there's ary a minit to rest.
I come an's read it o' daytimes, but the readin' goes best at night
With the wind and the rain at the winder an' the hearth flames burnins' bright.
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Day wrote a collection of ballads, tales in lyrical form, I'm not sure the formatting is quite correct here, I'd have to check.
It's like I-Like-Rhymes said, there are memories and a sense of accomplishment, and I'm sure a feeling of peace, sitting at night after a days hard work.
I have a few poems by Holman Day I'd like to add here when I get the chance. -
Having spent many hours as a youth watching elderly relatives making such rugs (and allowing me to add the occasional section) I can understand what the writer means when he talks about 'reading the rug'.
When you look back on something that you've helped create you can assosciate many memories with the various sections and viewing those sections makes the memories come alive once again.
Another story well told by Day.
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