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Poem

Decades ago, we met one afternoon
the talk was of change that was coming soon.
Betty Jean's dad gave his insightful view
that the elite life may not continue -
in his gracious estate on Cheswold Lane
across from the Cricket Club's courts of fame.
Peering out of his big picture window
and wondering which way the winds would blow.
Trying to fit in, find ways to belong
breathing in deeply, singing life's sweet song.
Who were we? Who did we dare think we were?
Chasing into life in a blazing blur.
Part of the "in-crowd", on top of the heap,
privileges afforded, no fear to leap.
Cliques became a fated cloistered class
we never thought that this could come to pass.
Nothing could catch us, or so we all thought,
futures so firm, the best that could be bought.
Main Line culture fell into slow decline
in a way the blue bloods could not define.
Wealthy old families lost their tight hold
the nouveau riche then surged forward bold.
This happens looking through the picture glass
dependent on birthright coupled with class.
Who'd thought bucolic beauty so brittle?
Certainly not us, we knew so little.

Couplet 26 lines 196 words
Color Pencil illustration by G. Gaul
Reference to the area of Main Line Philadelphia's
Merion Cricket Club

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