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Open granite quarries now swimming holes
Blueberry bushed hills once ocean washed
Soft Birch forests covering up old Dogtown
These are the days of my childhood spent
Traversing these old and winding pathways
Leading me to a time of my great-grandfather
Motif fishing shacks buried in the lobster traps
Calling out to me “It’s time to come back home”

Old stone walls leaning and falling across the fields
And close by the Babson house rickety standing
Resting roadside in old farmland abandoned by time
A forsaken reminder of a lifestyle gone by
Still, as dusk approaches and the evening settles
The crickets join the herring gulls in symphony
An ocean greened and bronze skyline
No city lights or sounds to disturb this perfection
Reminding me what a lovely place to be in…

My hometown of Rockport.



Note:  All the places listed are the landmarks of my hometown, founded in 1661.  
As a teen I wanted out, and as I grow older, I find I miss it more and more.

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