I can see my father's land
Where he grew up.  It is a
Mythical place and was also
To him though more richly
Imagined but in essence
The same.  It is enchanted
Yet knowable, distant yet
Clearly seen as I see him
His eyes looking out over
The water-a life guard
Seemingly focused on the
Far horizon but also with
The heart searching the
Past yet aware of his duty
A sentinel like the statue
Of the Minute man that
Stands guard at the place
Where the  roads diverge
Just before the beach. What
Is this place to me-a bridge
Between his past and mine
It is the idyll of youth so
Vivid, too glorious in its
Exaggeration and rowdy
Crime- of things as they are
And can never be undone
That in the end they cannot
Be repented of because they
Are gone to the golden place
In the sky where the children
Of Summers past still play
Beyond this place.  Like all
Children they know not what
They do and then it is gone.

For Ray all the Old CBVLG and their families,
For Mr Dayton Deacon of the Beach; and
Wild Foster who started it off and with a
Remembrance of how we loved Tag Day
11/17/2016