Just before the sun fires of the
Day are turned low--when the
Bright Summer sky is still pure
Blue the Little League Park is
Full of children and older folks.
The children play games of no
Names that are as old as the hills
It is liked a revival meeting with
No tent or preacher only people
Come as  to some long ago Druid
Holy place.  I say to myself
Come my heart to me on this
Bench of former times; let my
Soul recline and be at peace
All is well is it not though I do
Not belong and am only a
****** incognito and alone.
Just beyond the field is the
River and across the river the
Church my parents married in.
There also the old high school
their alma mater in that quaint






Old time that was just before
The war.  I had stopped here
For reasons I cannot explain
I had roots of conception in
This town but not by birth
All was to me as Willoughby
My home in a wishful dream.