Our town has history enough. Across the railroad, on the bluff, Prof. scans the records of our age And reads it, page by stony page. Desert, he says, and swamp and sea And glacier in turn were we. The three-toed horse, he says, was here; Rhinoceros and six-horned deer And other strange and varied meats Snorted and stamped about our streets, Back when the first town site survey Was yet a million years away. And then the red man's pedigree, With pigeon-toed solemnity, Stalked through our annals in a string And held their feasts beside our spring Till old Jed Tower built his hut With one hand on a pistol butt. Can Pontiac, Kish or Karnak Push their backgrounds further back? Our town has sights as fine to see As any in geography. Why, when the early sunlight spills In summer down our eastern hills They look like Heaven's parapet. From Eighth Street, when the sun has set, The high school on the hill in line Looms like a castle on the Rhine, And twisted pines along the crest, Backed by the lemon colored west, Would make Jap artists praise their gods And plant their easels here by squads. Some summer nights I have to lie In the front yard and watch the sky, And let my fancy climb and play Through lacework of the Milky Way To deeper heights all silver fired Until both eyes and brain are tired. Oh, never Nome, Hongkong or Rome Could show me finer sights than home. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 98 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE FIRST BREAK by ALEXANDER ANDERSON SKETCH - PORTRAIT OF CREECH THE BOOKSELLER by ROBERT BURNS TO RALPH LEYCESTER, ESQ., IN ANSWER TO A LETTER by JOHN BYROM TROILUS AND CRESSIDA [CRISEYDE]: BOOK 5 by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |