Faithful old Metters
Here is a poem I wrote from memories of farm days in Mullewa.
I’m sure many country people can relate to it.
The Metters Stove
Our Metters stove was cream and green,
The black top bright and shining clean.
One could often see where Mother had been,
Not a soiled spot would ever be seen.
The kettle would sing and gurgle all day,
And a large pot of stew was simmering away.
Many a roast was baked in that oven,
Cakes and scones came out by the dozen.
In winter she warmed our very cold feet,
After a bath in the tub we were rugged and neat.
Stories were told, some happy, some sad,
We could listen to the cricket if we hadn’t been bad.
The house would be warm as we slept through the storms,
The good old Metters would sparkle till dawn.
There were days when the Metters would cough and choke,
A house full of dust and jet black smoke.
Everyone out with sticks to clout the dirty chimney, till the soot fell out.
All is clean, the work is done. Gee, us kids, we had great fun!
The years rolled by and times have changed,
The kitchen boasts a new electric range.
That faithful old Metters once clean and green,
Has taken a trip Down the dusty road, to the rubbish tip.