In my kitchen sits an old wooden bucket

No telling how many years this bucket has seen

Its life began on a farm in Coppell

Sometime before 1900, it would have been.

My grandma called this her "Sugar Bucket"

For in it, sugar is what you'll find

The lid and a handle, all made of wood

A fine wooden bucket brings memories to mind.

Now take my Grandpa, he was a cook

Expecially when it came to breakfast time

He liked to make those good hot pancakes

And good sugar syrup he made was prime.

When his pancakes were ready to eat

With the turner in hand, to my bed he came

A tub of the toe, meant time to feast

A stack of three I would always claim.

As Grandpa flipped those hot pancakes

With turner in hand, the high kick he did

The light bulb hung from the kitchen ceiling

The bulb he would kick: in my memory as a kid.

Now Grandma had another wooden bucket

This one was useful but not quie so big

She referred to it as her little "Ice Bucket"

Into the old chest icebox I had to dig.

Ice they had in those olden days

Were big blocks of ice, grandpa would buy

A chunk you chipped off and into the bucket

"I'll do it Grandma, I'll ice the tea", I'd reply.

I keep these old antiquie buckets

Sitting atop my cabinet fir-down

They sit among my other old treasures

For all of them is really renown.

I am lucky to have such nice memories

Two wooden buckets with stories to tell

Are mine to have and display to all

'Til someone else receives them and treats them well.

Bessie MelVina Carathers

October 19, 2000