The hoofs over the cobblestone,
such rhythm in time,
a thought from yesteryear,
sadly, just not mine.
The trolley on Main street,
with our ancestors about town,
must have been a joyous sight,
a memory when we were not around.
Tranquil evenings under the moon,
before the electric light,
not known today,
but it must have been a sight.
A simple life,
with people very content,
not a life known today,
but we know what they meant.
Thoughts we know from a storybook,
with a life that did fulfill,
the echo from the past,
how we need them still.
James W. Spain