It was the old song I heard then
As I looked winterward to the heights:
Garnet-schist, gneiss, gambol oak,
The multi-trailed sandy benches--
I knew them well--for the old song
Was the truth I sought--Provision
For the soul of a country boy--
Sustenance in the lonely, crowded
Desolation of a college town.

And today in the warmth of March,
Conveyed on the comfort of age:
Remembered sweetness without
The bitter truth of its reality--
I look upward again to the abruptness
Of both mountain and season
And hear once more the old song--
Sustenance in the lonely, crowded
Desolation of middle age.

03/18/2007

Author's Note: East of campus, W.S.U.

Posted on 03/19/2007
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes