Our Homemade Wagon

Our Homemade Wagon

In the coal fields of Appalachia deep in the hills,

Children played with what they could find or what they could build.

It was one of those magical moments for my brothers and me,

When we decided to collect things to build our wagon you see.

With our imagination and excitement in hand,

There on the hill we three set about our plan.

A few rusty nails and four squeaky wheels,

Attaching them to flat rotten planks, was an ordeal.

With sweaty brows and bloody fingers, we pushed ahead,

Putting the magical wagon together we had envisioned in our heads.

First one nail, then another hammered until all was gone,

A homemade wagon, our newest invention, we soon sat upon.

Where do we go or what do we do?

Were the questions we pondered when we were through.

And, like all of our other adventures or childhood quests,

We soon put our masterpiece through all of its tests.

Sitting aboard our homemade wagon and free,

My brothers and I yelled with happiness and unbridled glee.

We’d taken on a new challenge, a Radio Flyer to build,

Even with its imperfections we couldn’t have been more thrilled.

Day after day we pushed and we pulled,

From sunrise to sunset we played with what we’d tooled.

There was nothing better or considered such a treasure,

On the hill with its dirt roads, we rode our wagon with pleasure.

Gone now are the rusty nails, rotting planks, and squeaky wheels,

Gone now are the dirt roads that are abandoned and still.

Gone now are those days of living on the hill,

Where me and my brothers formed memories, creativity instilled.

For the moment, the adventure I relived all anew,

With visions of grandeur only experienced by a few.

The three brothers from a small house that sit on the hill,

Created a world of memories that I’ll never conceal.

By: Dan R. Fowler

For: Astrid