My Hometown--A Poem

This bending, swerving road
Leads to a spot few souls know.
Past the shot-up city limits sign
Is the place where my roots still grow.

At the center is the general store where
You’ll find old men with long tales and little hair.
They’ll bid you “Good morning” and “Good afternoon”
And lament that you’re growing up too soon.

Could there ever be such another place?
Where each and every soul knows each other’s face?

The Methodist church is up on the left
While the Baptist church is just past on the right.
On each and every Sunday morning the preachers
Tell the congregations of God’s love and might.

Could there ever be such another place?
Where each and every soul knows of God’s grace?

And the fire department, and yes, there is one,
Though help must wait until the volunteers come,
Serves as the town meeting place and voting hall,
Where ballots are cast by one and all.

Could there ever be such another place?
Where time never, ever seems to race?

Each year more and more of the kids they
Seem to move farther and farther away
And though the town keeps just going on
With each loss a bit of its charm is gone.

Could there ever be such another place?
I hope that I never, ever have to have it replaced.



My Hometown This bending, swerving road Leads to a spot few souls know. Past the shot-up city limits sign Is the place where my roots still grow. At the center is the general store where You’ll find old men with long tales and little hair. They’ll bid you “Good morning” and “Good afternoon” And lament that you’re growing up too soon. Could there ever be such another place? Where each and every soul knows each other’s face? The Methodist church is up on the left While the Baptist church is just past on the right. On each and every Sunday morning the preachers Tell the congregations of God’s love and might. Could there ever be such another place? Where each and every soul knows of God’s grace? And the fire department, and yes, there is one, Though help must wait until the volunteers come, Serves as the town meeting place and voting hall, Where ballots are cast by one and all. Could there ever be such another place? Where time never, ever seems to race? Each year more and more of the kids they Seem to move farther and farther away And though the town keeps just going on With each loss a bit of its charm is gone. Could there ever be such another place? I hope that I never, ever have to have it replaced.

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