Down a wind-blown avenue
Where the dreams of childhood grew,
And grew, to huge proportions
From the little that we knew,
How our hearts then soared and sang!
How we let our cares go hang
And roared and whooped and rioted
And brought up with a bang
Sick against the street’s big trees,
With responsibilities,
Married, worried, harried, hurried,
Unprepared for grim unease.
Still we staggered, with our load,
Smiling at the spur and goad,
Nor looked too wholly envious
At those who flew the road.
Then, at last, a turn-off street,
Down a gala, rose-strewn street,
We laugh, and trip unburdened
Where old age and childhood meet…
by Ray Romine Sunday, March 12, 1950
