Thursday, August 30, 2018

flour sack underwear

When I was just a maiden fair, Mama made our underwear;
With many kids and Dad’s poor pay, We had no fancy lingerie.
Monograms and fancy stitches, Did not adorn our Sunday britches;
Pantywaists that stood the test, Had ‘Gold Medal’ on our breast.
No lace or ruffles to enhance, Just ‘Pride of Bloomington’ on my pants.
One pair of panties beat them all, For it had a scene I still recall —
Harvesters were gleaning wheat, Right across my little seat.
Rougher than a grizzly bear, Was my flour-sack underwear.
Plain, not fancy and two feet wide, And tougher than a hippo’s hide.
All through Depression each, Jill and Jack wore the sturdy garb of sack.
Waste not, want not, we soon learned, That a penny saved is a penny earned.
There were curtains and tea towel too, And that is just to name a few.
But the best beyond compare, Was my flour sack underwear.

Anon

sent by Harold Fox to http://buffaloreflex.com/heritage/a-tale-or-two-flour-sack-underwear/article_2d3a73d6-7bd9-11e8-a3f4-073cf5f02b1a.html

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