Post by debra on Jan 26, 2011 21:38:57 GMT -5
Ol' Peter Wiliken
by Debra Lynn Meador Cole
( A true story about Robert E. Lee Brown, my great-grandfather,who lived at Lick Creek, down over the mountain from Pipestem, WV) (I kinda made up a little of the story which may not suit my mom who was really there when it occurred,so I may later make a revision to be more accurate, historically, but for now I take poetic license.)
Grandaddy Bob loved his old rooster
It followed him all over the place.
Ol' Peter Wiliken with his red comb jiggling
Strutted about at his own pace.
Early in the morning Peter'd get things agoing
Puffing up his chest to sound the alarm.
Er Er, Er Er, Er Er, Er, He'd crow
Awakening everyone on the farm.
Grandad would put on his bib overalls
Then eat his biscuits, gravy, and applesauce.
Ol' Peter fit in with the nature of things---
He thought he was the boss.
He roamed the fields, pecking at the ground,
And kept the hens satisfied.
Grandad loved all of his animals and
At slaughter time he would hide.
He got really attached to the cocky old rooster.
Both of them made a mighty fine pair.
But nothing good could last for long
As Love turned to Great Despair.
Grandad awoke at dawn that day
It was quiet as quiet could be.
He sensed something terrible was wrong
And Peter Wiliken he could not see.
He searched all around the farmhouse;
Feathers were scattered everywhere.
Up underneath the corn crib he found
Peter's limp body just lying there.
Mean dogs had killed him in the night
When no one was around.
Poor Peter didn't have a chance,
Barely time to make a sound.
Grandad's heart was heavy as he picked him up;
Quiet tears ran down his cheek.
He carried him to the barn, got his mattock,
And took Peter down to the creek.
He cried as he dug the hole so deep.
His heart was as heavy as it could be.
He mourned his friend, but worst of all,
He sorely missed his company.
Peter's grave is still beside Lick Creek
Marked with just a stone
And Grandad, he just kept on hoeing
All by himself, so all alone.
by Debra Lynn Meador Cole
( A true story about Robert E. Lee Brown, my great-grandfather,who lived at Lick Creek, down over the mountain from Pipestem, WV) (I kinda made up a little of the story which may not suit my mom who was really there when it occurred,so I may later make a revision to be more accurate, historically, but for now I take poetic license.)
Grandaddy Bob loved his old rooster
It followed him all over the place.
Ol' Peter Wiliken with his red comb jiggling
Strutted about at his own pace.
Early in the morning Peter'd get things agoing
Puffing up his chest to sound the alarm.
Er Er, Er Er, Er Er, Er, He'd crow
Awakening everyone on the farm.
Grandad would put on his bib overalls
Then eat his biscuits, gravy, and applesauce.
Ol' Peter fit in with the nature of things---
He thought he was the boss.
He roamed the fields, pecking at the ground,
And kept the hens satisfied.
Grandad loved all of his animals and
At slaughter time he would hide.
He got really attached to the cocky old rooster.
Both of them made a mighty fine pair.
But nothing good could last for long
As Love turned to Great Despair.
Grandad awoke at dawn that day
It was quiet as quiet could be.
He sensed something terrible was wrong
And Peter Wiliken he could not see.
He searched all around the farmhouse;
Feathers were scattered everywhere.
Up underneath the corn crib he found
Peter's limp body just lying there.
Mean dogs had killed him in the night
When no one was around.
Poor Peter didn't have a chance,
Barely time to make a sound.
Grandad's heart was heavy as he picked him up;
Quiet tears ran down his cheek.
He carried him to the barn, got his mattock,
And took Peter down to the creek.
He cried as he dug the hole so deep.
His heart was as heavy as it could be.
He mourned his friend, but worst of all,
He sorely missed his company.
Peter's grave is still beside Lick Creek
Marked with just a stone
And Grandad, he just kept on hoeing
All by himself, so all alone.
