We Didn't Know We Were Poor

While purging old files at the office today, I came across a photocopy of this poem. I have copied it here exactly for you to enjoy. I can't seem to find it anywhere online or for sale. There is a page number [6] on the bottom left corner, and on the bottom right, it says Good Old Days Summer Special. Searching online for these terms and such doesn't seem to bring anything up. If anyone has more information, please e-mail me (found under the Contact Page), as I'd love to learn more.

We Didn't Know We Were Poor

By Ione Boss

We grew up in a house by the side of the road
With nothing modern to lighten the chore,
Just a little old shack, with an outhouse in back,
But we didn't know we were poor.

The Depression had hit Oklahoma,
The sandstorms had done lots of harm,
Some people were sad, for they lost what they had,
But my daddy would not leave the farm.

He worked day and night on that old sandy farm,
And he plowed till his muscles were sore,
But he made the crops grow, from the seeds he would sow,
And he kept the wolf from the door.

We had chickens and turkeys, some pigs and a cow,
And horses, I think three or four,
A roof over our heads, and nice feather beds,
Now, whoever said we were poor?

In winter, the snow would blow in through the cracks
And the wind round the chimney would moan,
But with a fire burning bright, and a kerosene light,
We were happy in our little home.

And Mamma would work in the kitchen,
While baking the bread she would sing,
And the meals she turned out, would make us all shout,
For the food, it was fit for a King.

There were beans in an old iron kettle,
And ham sliced thick in the pan,
Corn bread and potatoes, canned greens and tomatoes,
Now, try to top that if you can.

We never had very much money,
We seldom went to the store,
But no one complained, in sunshine or rain,
And nobody said we were poor.

The springtime I think we like best of all,
When the warm sun shone bright on the land,
Oh happy day, when our shoes [unreadable],
And we could run barefoot in the sand.

The wild flowers grew in profusion
And they were more lovely by far,
Than the prettiest rose, or any orchid that grows
When we brought them home in a jar.

To place on the old kitchen table,
To brighten it up for the day,
Their wonderful hues, of pink, gold, and blues,
Made a beautiful center bouquet.

In summer we'd hunt the wild berries
And the plums in the thickets were sweet,
Sitting under a tree, contented we'd be,
And enjoy our summertime treat.

At evening when the whippoorwills called from the hills,
We'd sit round the old cabin door,
With the whispering breeze gently stirring the trees,
And we never once thought we were poor.

In fall when the leaves would turn golden and brown,
Once more we would go back to school
With pencils and paper, notebooks and erasers,
To study the Golden Rule.

That little red schoolhouse I'll never forget
Though I live to be 90 years old,
The secrets we'd share and the fun we had there
Was worth more than silver and gold.

The months and the years have swiftly gone by,
Since we lived in those good days of yore,
So happy at play, on that old farm all day,
And we never did know we were poor.

P.S. I don't own this, and I'm not claiming it. I can't find anything out about it so I am using the information I have available.