Book

He was not the kind of book you left upon the shelf…

He had lived seventy years before I met him myself.

Playing the fiddle, spoons, and glasses of water,

His music filled the room, and stories and laughter until soon

Dancing broke out bringing joy to full bloom.

My Great Uncle Book was a tall, lanky man.

He didn’t have any teeth; so, he’d crack nuts with a hammer in order to eat.

He drank his coffee in a bowl poured over one of my granny’s delicious homemade biscuits…

Bless his soul…

A master storyteller and riddle-maker, why he’d lived a lifetime

before I knew him…he was my best friend…

Sitting on the old, porch-stoop, he’d whittle and spit chewing tobacco

hitting a fly as it flew by…

Cut out newspaper articles and glued em in a big scrapbook.

Every now and then I’d take a look…Oh the thrill of him was all it took

For me to sit for hours and listen to my Uncle Book!

Groomed by granny, she cut his hair and gave him a shave

He wasn’t afeared he was always brave…

And then when he was seventy-nine, he was called to heaven and left us all behind.

I’ll never forget this man called Book, named after The Great, Old Holy Book.

It’s been sixty-three years, I’m now seventy-two.

Uncle Book was a kind man and that’s who,

I think of often when I write.

~Marla Shaw O’Neill January 23, 2026

2 Timothy 1:6-7 King James Version

⁶ Wherefore I put thee in remembrance that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in thee by the putting on of my hands.

⁷ For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

I couldn’t find the picture of Uncle Book and I but here he is with my granny Sallie, and three of her children. (My mama, Uncle David and Uncle RL.)