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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Reading Poem 3 "Ode to Nicolet Lane" There I saw green visions, and a young boy of 9 years running by, As I stood once again upon the aged asphalt. Last time I stood there was 58 years hence; I recall the sun was sinking like a ship into a gray gloom it seemed, and summer was breathing its last, as 1961’s national celebration of labor and the getting of goods, commenced, with the flaying and cooking of pig, bovine and crackling fowl, our thick smoke arose like a geyser of giddy anticipation of all things worth working for, and worth dying for. Our thoughts turned to the times of slowing down the stringent clock, of attempting to lasso in the final minutes of faint freedom, when beneficent windows will exhale at last, issuing the perfumes of time and closure. One’s childhood never really dies, when it is possible to return to these old mind streets. I turn on my heels and see the green trees of Nicolet Lane, continuing to give a widespread shade 58 years hence, and I can see Tyke the ghost dog, chasing yet another chevy impala down this road, barking and yapping incessantly at a pair of white-walled tires, escaping once again this mad dog running amok! And look. I see Time way down the lane there too, limping along with a walking stick, testing the sediment and the feel of autumn’s touch. We both know supper will soon be served yet again, and we will exhale at last, while unfolding our napkins to receive the soup tureen.
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