My Sister Maggie and I

Once upon a time when we were young and lithe,
We wandered up the mountain streams and
Down over the hills and up the mountain sides,
Talking, laughing, and never a frown.
My sister Maggie and I.

We fished in the creek, waded in the creek,
Splashed and played in the creek.
When Mother called we hastened home in wet clothes,
Dripping hair and rosy of cheek.
My sister Maggie and I.

Our Mother would say, “My O!”
How she did fume and how she did scold!
She changed our clothes, dried our feet,
and warmed our toes.
My sister Maggie and I.

Mother set us down in a chair,
“You sit there until I say get up, do you hear?”
Yes, Mother, we heard what you said.
We became so sleepy we asked to go to bed.
My sister Maggie and I.

Our sister and our brother came by laughing, saying
“Now you girls should have a good, sound threshing!”
With a loving mama we were blessed.
She looked so sweet; we felt so dry and warmly dressed.
My sister Maggie and I.

Wonderful were our childhood days,
With our ups and downs and all our ways.
Home sweet home, with a father and a mother and a sister and a brother,
All going our various ways and loving each other.
My sister Maggie and I.

Quarling, kissing, slapping, and running,
This our home was a happy place and sometimes things were funny.
Well those days are a long-time gone,
Leaving us with our sweet memories and a melodious song.
My sister Maggie and I.


P.S. Way back in 1908 & 1909 we lived in the Nantahala Mountains of North Carolina and across the Snowbird Mountains on a creek, named Panther Creek, in Graham County. Our post office address was Japan, North Carolina (now covered by the Fontana Dam). Our dad worked at this time at the Whiting (Sawmill) Lumber Company. Pop tended the gauging of the two big steam boilers and also repaired anything needed. When we carried his hot dinner that Mother prepared for him in a tin dinner bucket, he always met us with a smile, a hug, and a kiss. He had brown eyes, dark wavy hair, was 5’11” tall, and weighed around 168 pounds. He was 42 years old.

Hope you enjoy reading this crudely written poem. It came from my heart and memories of yesterdays. Papa died in 1909, May 19, leaving mother with six children: Lula, Octavis, Mary (Mamie), Margaret (Maggie), Maudie Cecil, and John Homer Postell. Mother died two years later, July 12, 1911. We orphans never went hungry or ragged, and never lacked a roof over our heads. All are gone on to the other side except Maggie and me.

Mary P. Ralston
(probably written in May 1976)