I suppose I'm an old-fashioned woman---
at least all the neighbors think so;
They say I am clinging to customs
That went out of date years ago.
I simply can't learn their slang phrases---
In style, I am worse than a wreck;
My skirts reach clear down to my ankles,
And my waist comes clear up to my neck.
I'm still saying grace at the table,
Tho' the bread may be barley, or rye;
I don't hanker to join the "new women"---
I'd not enjoy it if I'd try.
I still love my husband and children---
I supposed that's an old-fashioned view;
And I still read my Bible each morning,
My faith in God's care to renew.
And so, when they say I'm old-fashioned,
It's truth I don't want to deny;
For I love the old creed and the customs
That were born in the ages gone by.
And if the great morning of Judgement
finds my soul without blemish of sin,
How much do you think it will matter
How queer and old -fashioned I've been?
I recently found a yellowed with age clipping with this poem written on it, tucked in the pages of my Grandmother's Bible. Yes, she was an old-fashioned woman, leading a simple life, and was always happy with having the few earthly possessions that they owned. I think this little poem pretty well describes my sweet Grandma Brown.