The Peach Malt

Ever since you passed away,

I haven't gone a day

Without wanting ice cream.

Three years, ten months, and twenty-eight days,

Craving for some dang ice cream.

 

The peach malt at the Brown County Fair,

In line at the dairy, I'd spy that red hair.

I'd come up behind you, wanting a treat,

And you'd buy me some ice cream to beat the heat.

 

Ever since you passed away,

I haven't gone a day

Without wanting ice cream.

Three years, ten months, and twenty-eight days,

Craving for some dang ice cream.

 

Every year since you passed away,

I went to that fair, craving a peach malt.

Every year I bought that malt,

Savoring every last drop, because that's what you'd want.

"Enjoy the little things in life," you'd tell me.

Because one day there won't be any ice cream.

 

Every since you passed away,

I haven't gone a day

Without wanting ice cream.

Three years, ten months, and twenty-eight days,

Craving for some dang ice cream.

 

This year I went to that fair,

Waiting in line, looking for red hair.

I didn't find any red hair, so I asked for your favorite malt,

Knowing I didn't have anyone to help me beat the heat.

The peach malt, I asked for,

But guess what?

They didn't have that peach malt anymore.

 

They told me the company doesn't carry it.

The peach malt was gone.

The lady looked at me, confused by my tears,

She asked, "What's wrong dear?"

And I told her:

 

"Ever since you passed away,

I haven't gone a day

Without wanting ice cream.

Three years, ten months, and twenty-eight days,

Craving for some dang ice cream."

 

"How 'bout cherry?" She asked with a smile.

I watched her and waited a while.

I told her "no thanks,"

It wasn't worth it.

I didn't want a malt unless it was yours.

 

I walked away, sat down for a bit,

Pondered and thought about the peach malt.

I started to cry, wanting it back,

Knowing I'd never taste that sweet peach malt again.

 

Ever since you passed away,

I haven't gone a day

Without wanting ice cream.

Three years, ten months, and twenty-eight days,

Craving for some dang ice cream.

 

It was gone, like you.

Here I was, alone and wandering the fair,

Trying to beat that dang heat,

Knowing no one would buy me a treat.

I kept thinking, "Only one more taste,"

But that wasn't going to happen.

I would always wander that fair,

Searching and scouring for some red hair.

 

You were gone like that malt,

But I would get a taste again.

I would wander this fair,

Looking for red hair,

But I would find it again in Heaven.

 

Ever since you passed away,

I haven't gone a day

Without wanting ice cream.

Three years, ten months, and twenty-eight days,

Craving for some dang ice cream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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