The Lady With The Pipe

She smoked her pipe in the evening,

In her rocking chair by the stove.

This kind and lonely old lady,

Tapped her foot in her skirt of mauve. Aschildren we loved to watch her,

As we brought fresh milk to her door,

Sent by our mother to cheer her,

She would say thank you bring more.

Her hands were wrinkled and lined with age, As shaking she smoked her pipe,

But happiness shone in her dark brown eyes, Every time we brought the milk.

At five in the evening we would return, When mother finished milking the cows.

Her door would then be opened wide,

With pipe smoke rolling by.

Her smile and the tap of her foot on the floor, Was a welcome we learned was come in, And soon us children spent time with her, Listening to the old songs she would sing.

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