THE DAYS LIVE AGAIN


O hallowed charm of long departed days;
The good and bad blend in a sparkling stream.
If one recalls youth's glad and care free ways;
The distant roar of music is supreme,
When viewing life's almost forgotten trail.
There is a stream that twines its way about
Through shady spots, by broken, rotted rail.
The falling water glitters, and the trout,
Again, like precious memories, flash and dart.
Through bleak and cold, a precipice once crossed
Still fills with pride and pain the aging heart;
For time has now the thorns and rocks embossed,
And thus the long dead past is always bright,
For those whose sun is sinking into night.




ROLLING TRUCKS


Rolling over desert sands
Steady there are dough-boy's hands.
Gliding past the silver sage
Caring naught for fame or wage;