by Robert Fromme, Jr.
Of a place distant, miles and years away,
A world so silent and snowbound in December.
Yet it wakes to youth, joy and melody in May.
A world where quail and skylark’s sweetest notes are blended,
And mountain hawk and eagle challenge each to swiftest flight,
When day is done and evening shadows ended,
The forms of sturdy doe and timid fawn are phantoms in the night.
A world where mountains meet and kiss the sunrise,
And laurel grows to tell us God remembers we are there,
Where friends are all around us.
Man’s Joy of life to share.
There’s a spring that rises like a fountain,
There were children playing near the mountain,
Then a Brook that rushes seaward thru the glen.
Yearning for their hearts to be grown.
Shall I go back and kneel beside that fountain,
And wash my soul in water of that stream?
And smell the laurel of that mountain?
And so redeem myself and live my childhood dreams.