The Spring Hero

Back from the trouting stream he comes

     The wonder of the town;

His rod across his shoulder slung,

     His basket lid tied down.

And men they eye him enviously,

     And sigh as on he goes;

And wish that fate would grant to them

     Such heavenly times as those.

But come with me unto his home,

     For truth is always best;

A trout he never caught but a

     Head cold down in his chest.

March 27, ‘97

Phillips (Me.)

Phonograph,

May 6, ‘97