THE SMALL TOWN


 
 
 
A red brick heart, a cobblestone soul,
Meandering arteries and veins,
A backbone of good hardwood,
And lungs of pink, unstained.
 
Clear, clean skies that tantalize,
A crystal blue display,
Twinkling stars like eyes at night,
That hide away in the day..
 
Fingers reach out to the country,
They shyly beckon and seduce,
They lead to farmers' roadside stands,
Selling veggies and fresh fruits.
 
There's a rhythm to a small town,
A slow, care-free, easy beat,
All day long it plays its song,
Then at night lulls folks to sleep.
 
Bees buzz, and crickets chirp,
Old pick-up trucks shift gears,
Tiny songbirds can be heard,
And small baby's coos and tears.
 
Train whistles blow both day and night,
As trains chug by the city hall,
The Local stops there twice a day,
The Express doesn't stop at all.
 
No throughways nor freeways,
No Interstate through town,
Just quiet, simple, byways,
One barely hears a sound.
 
Small towns always wake at dawn,
Because they sleep so well at night,
Lullabied by nightingales,
Then waked by roosters at first light.
 
Not much variety,
Little change from day to day,
Small town dullness stays the same,
Never seems to go away.
 
The small town - a place of calm.
From the beginning to the end,
Room to stretch - room to spread,
Unlike piggies in a pen.
 
All one language and one tongue,
Folks speak easily to each other.
But petty tiffs sometimes cause rifts,
Between ever loving brothers.
 
No matter where one is ... or isn't,
There's lots of room to spare,
And of the people who are near,
Most likely someone cares.
 
God and Satan do compete,
Though Satan seldom wins,
Small town folks know better,
They thumb their nose at him.
 
Relatives and family,
Busybodies, lovers, friends,
Living with each other
Knowing how to make amends.
 
The stillness and the quietness,
The boredom, the routine,
Anything and everything,
Either dies or is redeemed.
 
One can't escape the small town,
Even when one packs and leaves,
It is embedded in one's guts,
Like a lingering disease.
 
Ah, the small town - the sleepy small town,
A place to love and hate, you know,
People dream one day to leave it,
But it will never let them go.
 

Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
ŠApril 2005



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