Shack Town

Batchelor Buttons, Hollyhocks

and Gladiolas by the score,

Tulips, Violets and Moss Rose,

all of these and much, much more,

I remember growing in my

Grandma's yard and beside her door.

She took a piece of rocky ground

and she, like magic made it bloom.

Her life never had been easy

but with hard work she chased the gloom.

Outside she used shovel and rake,

her tools inside were mop and broom.

She made do with very little,

the place she lived, they called Shack Town.

The town thought it was an eyesore,

they bought her out and burned it down.

Moved her into an apartment

with just a tiny piece of ground.

I have many fond memories

of Grandma's house beside the track.

I guess, in truth, it really was

a simple little lean-to shack,

but of beauty and cleanliness

and hope and love there was no lack.

In the midst of filth and squalor

her lovely flower garden stood.

She brightened her little corner

in a disgusting neighborhood.

Her candle burned very brightly,

spreading light as only she could