Sunday, February 6, 2011


Editor's note: When Jack fractured his ankle by falling on some ice in our front yard last month, our friends Michele and James delivered a big, and much appreciated, pot of chicken soup. Hey, maybe they're on to something!

When one of her offspring, in Grandmother's day,
Came down with stomach-ache, measles or croup,
The very first thing that Grandma would say,
"Let me fix you a bowl of hot chicken soup!"

Grandma never would take any stock
In drugstore medicine, tonics or pills,
The broth of a big old fat Plymouth Rock
Was a sure cure for anyone's ills.

Nine healthy children, husky and strong,
Grew up under Grandma's benevolent eye;
Her treatment was surely not very far wrong,
As nine examples would all signify.

My Grandpa lived for many a moon,
But took to his bed at age ninety-five;
Grandma stood by his side with a spoon,
And for more than a week kept him alive.

But Grandpa was called by the angels one day,
And went up to sing with that Heavenly group,
And down at the courthouse, the record books say,
"Death caused by drowning in hot chicken soup."

--Autumn Acres (1982)

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