They Never Left: Stanza 3
As a teenager
I became unsure
of
hanging onto the past
of
grasping the future.
For
the past was sure-footed,
unselfish,
unencumbered,
magical,
mythical.
But
the future was clumsy
uneven,
uncharted
and
scary.
My playground became
the real
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poem by Gordon Francis
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They Never Left: Stanza 2
As a boy
I thought of nothing
but boyish things,
never forced
to think of the future
always living
a day-to-day life,
studying,
maturing,
working in the woods
with axe and saw.
But oh,
the coal came
and then the oil
and
electricity
like magic.
My aching shoulders
became strong
swinging from Birch to Birch
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poem by Gordon Francis
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