I
like the “Crick” about this time;
For
me it’s in its proper prime –
When
all is quiet ‘long the stream
Then
is the time I like to dream
And
while away the lazy days
Amid
its soft and dreamy haze.
The
summer folks have gone away,
Back
to the city’s swim and sway,
And
left a quiet here behind
That
suits my lazy, dreamy mind;
And
once again I feel the balm
That
falls on “Lizzard” lone and calm.
No
sounds of laughter break the spell,
No
wild Comanche Injun’s yell,
No
half-dressed, tanned canoemen glide
Upon
the smooth reflected tide;
No
sights or sounds discordant rise
To
steal away my paradise.
Mount
Tom stands sleepy as of yore,
With
deep carnations on his shore;
The
wharf and grove reflected lie
Against
a maze of mirrored sky,
And
in the fading distance gleams
The
village of my boyhood dreams.
I
like the “Crick” about this time,
It
holds me in its grip sublime;
The
fish have found their appetites –
No
more the fierce mosquito bites.
And
I can bathe upon its shore
Clad
in the clothes I wore of yore!
Salmon
River, Sept. 22, ‘07
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