THE BARLOW KNIFE

Granddad gave me his Barlow knife, Bone handles on each side. He'd owned the knife for many years And carried it with pride.

I remember when he called me in, Had me sit beside his knee. He said, "I know it isn't much But keep the knife for me."

Then he handed me a little stone. He said, "They go together, The stone will keep the Barlow sharp In every kind of weather."

I looked into his tired blue eyes They were focused on the ground, But his mind was probing through the past When his family was around.

I held back tears and thanked him For I knew what Grandad meant. He didn't need the Barlow now He knew his life was spent.

I've owned so many other knives Throughout my adult life But none could ever take the place Of that little Barlow knive.

Long years have passed since Granddad left And what must be-- must be.Someone must take the Barlow and keep it now for me.

John L. Gwaltney

GRANDMA

I remember Grandma With her tired and smiling face, And how she cooked the family dinners While she sang "Amazing Grace".

I've watched her make her biscuits, They were squeezed off with her hand, Greased them on the top and bottom And put into a waiting pan.

She'd shake ashes from the firebox, Put more wood in on the fire. Fill the old molasses pitcher From a big ten gallon jar.

Then bring food in from the cellar, It was setting just outside Put it on the big old table With that special woman's pride.

When she made the call for dinner Every chair and bench was filled. And when a grandchild grabbed a biscuit You could see her heart was thrilled.

Those old days are gone forever, Now Grandma's in a better place. But when I'm loaded down with sorrow I can hear her sing "Amazing Grace".

John L. Gwaltney