Memories At the Rivers Edge
The Saint John River rolls along
Under skies of baby blue,
Touching lives of country folk
Just the way it used to do
Before the war to better times,
When steamboats churned and church bells chimed.
The Continental whistle blew
To barking dogs along the track.
At Sutton's Crossing, passengers
Would smile as they reached Ketepec,
Where noses perked to sawdust smells
And farmers fiddled in their dells.
Allie Bonnell had a dream.
He grabbed his hammer and a saw,
And raised a platform to the sky
Where people came to dance and jaw.
There were no TV shows to watch,
And only baseball bats to notch.
For what's a place without a song
That's played by some and sung by more,
Prancing princes, kings and queens,
All heels and toes upon the floor?
Accordions were quite a sight.
Fifteen cents to dance all night.
City dwellers cherished days
Of summer at the river's edge.
Campfire smoke still lingers where
Fairies flit through forest hedge.
Sailboats slicing, paddles skimming,
Anglers splicing, midnight swimming.
The KBM took center stage
For capital communities.
Ketepec, Belmont and Morna
Steeped in clubhouse memories...
Tennis, horseshoes, softball games,
It could be called the "hall of fame".
And when the flakes of winter sealed
September's corn boil in a dream,
The river made a skating rink
For silver blades and hockey teams.
Deer leaned against the nearest birch
As Christmas called from St. Anne's Church.
The Saint John River rolls along
Under skies of baby blue,
Touching lives of country folk
Just the way it used to do.
As timeless minstrels pluck their strings,
Now we must find the words to sing.
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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