The clinking of the bottles
All filled with what was good
Reminded me the milkman was near
To deliver what he should.
Henry knew exactly what to bring
He had worked this job for years
When asked about the work he did
He spoke highly of his peers.
Always with a smile on his face
No matter what we asked
Whether milk, butter or cream he brought
They were as fresh as in the past.
Bad weather did not bother him
As much as some of the dogs
It was funny to watch him run
Occasionally trying to hide in the fog.
Henry worked hard delivering milk to our home
No help did he ever seek
Mom said between my brother and I
We drank 23 quarts a week.
Oh, how I miss “Our Henry of the past”
When products were brought to the home
Now, I must elude the crowds
To buy milk on my own.
– Carol L. Suchiu