A poem I wrote, oughtta be a country-western song
Except, darn it, I wrote 6-line verses instead of 4-line ones. Won't fit into any songs *I* know. Had this problem with a marvelous faerie song I wrote too. :/
I never thought I’d miss that little town
Flanked by granite hillsides tumbled down.
Dust and sagebrush; irrigated fields
Marching rows of giant sprinkler wheels,
Thin snow, the smoke wisped from the chimney-tops
The wind that slows sometimes, but never stops.
The outside world seemed vast; my town so small
I couldn’t think of staying there at all
I wanted big-town anonymity;
To not be predefined by family,
Nor judged by what my parents said, or did -
I wanted out, like every small-town kid.
The city called me, and of course I went
I couldn’t tell you how my life was spent.
Except I’d traded small-town isolation
For school, and work, and midnight television
While mom and dad grew old at home alone,
And we lost touch except sometimes to phone.
All the years and distance ‘tween this and me
But if I close my eyes I still can see
The rocky outcrops stark against the sky;
Could smell the sagebrush, hear the kildeer’s cry
And heavy footfall on the creaky stair;
Could see my mother’s apron and my father’s chair.
I could have stayed there, if I’d really tried,
Been close to mom and dad when each one died.
Gone into business, somehow stayed around
Maybe farmed a patch of dusty ground:
Instead, I sold my soul for city lights
So bright you could not see the stars at nights
While I was gone, things changed: they always will;
The town in memory is bright and still.
With dad and mom both gone now, I see plain
Tom Wolfe was right: you can’t go home again.
But god now how I wish that things could be
The way they were back then, when everyone knew me.
I never thought I’d miss that little town
Flanked by granite hillsides tumbled down.
Dust and sagebrush; irrigated fields
Marching rows of giant sprinkler wheels,
Thin snow, the smoke wisped from the chimney-tops
The wind that slows sometimes, but never stops.
The outside world seemed vast; my town so small
I couldn’t think of staying there at all
I wanted big-town anonymity;
To not be predefined by family,
Nor judged by what my parents said, or did -
I wanted out, like every small-town kid.
The city called me, and of course I went
I couldn’t tell you how my life was spent.
Except I’d traded small-town isolation
For school, and work, and midnight television
While mom and dad grew old at home alone,
And we lost touch except sometimes to phone.
All the years and distance ‘tween this and me
But if I close my eyes I still can see
The rocky outcrops stark against the sky;
Could smell the sagebrush, hear the kildeer’s cry
And heavy footfall on the creaky stair;
Could see my mother’s apron and my father’s chair.
I could have stayed there, if I’d really tried,
Been close to mom and dad when each one died.
Gone into business, somehow stayed around
Maybe farmed a patch of dusty ground:
Instead, I sold my soul for city lights
So bright you could not see the stars at nights
While I was gone, things changed: they always will;
The town in memory is bright and still.
With dad and mom both gone now, I see plain
Tom Wolfe was right: you can’t go home again.
But god now how I wish that things could be
The way they were back then, when everyone knew me.