Memories of "Dear Old Mahomet"
             by: Lola (Wilson) Lewis

As I sit, and my mind wanders back
      to a little three-room shack,

To a house I loved so well,
      where my family used to dwell,

Oh, how my mind does roam
      back to the place we called home,

All the things we used to do,
      and all our good neighbors we loved too,

Our little Sycamore school,
      and the teachers' golden rule,

The little church house was there was there so long,
      where we prayed and sang our songs.

Oh! I could write a sonnet
      about dear old Mahomet,

The little store where the people traded
      is no more like the people old and faded.

My mind remembers three little girls,
      my dearest friends in the world.

I hope they do remember me,
      although them I never see.

I think, and my mind does whirl
      back to my friends, Lorene, Wilma and Pearl.

The little blacksmith shop, run by my dad,
      the best blacksmith they ever had.

The little dry goods store,
      owned by Mr. Jack, it's there no more.

The dear people I used to see,
      all there no more to welcome me.

All the good people we used to know and love,
      most have gone on to heaven above.

There was Mr. Jack, George, and my dad Will,
      all are gone but remembered still.

Mr. Tom Burch and his dear sweet wife,
      I loved them, I knew them most of my life.

My dear sweet mama, Lucy Ming,
      I praise her above everything.

She worked so hard both night and day,
      she taught us how to love and pray.

So many more dear people, I can't name them all,
      so many heard the Master's call.

They are still in my memories too,
      When I go, I hope to meet them, it's true.

But as my mind wanders through that little place
      I can almost see my friends' faces.

But God has blessed me, so I pray
      He will guide me thought another day.

I have a dear husband and two sweet girls,
      I'll always be thankful for Clarence,
           Darlene, and Lamerle.

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