Thursday, October 25, 2012

Hidden glen

 It’s like a scene from a tourist’s post card
A pond, a field, grass blowing hard
A line of trees that curves so wide
As to make this place seem like country side

A huge oak sits on top of a hill
And geese gorge fish until they’re filled
Near at hand traffic buzzes
Trucks bang and beeping cars and busses

Billboards decorate the highway sides
Power jets rip across a bright blue sky
No one but a handful note this place
Joggers hardly even slacken their pace

They follow black asphalt paths
Sneakers pounding out the latest fads
As a few poor fools still try to stroll
On linger upon some grassy knoll

Lovers walk here hand in hand
Or slowly ease down to the edge of sand
As gulls swerve above and cry
Or stirred by noise start to fly
I walk this place out of my youth
A tongue in  searche for a missing tooth
Aching again for what once was
And know that much has turned to dust

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