Couplet: Some Eyes Can'T View Poem by Caryl Ramsdale

In my long past neighborhood at the intersection where;
Narrow streets meet each other—sometimes—I want to be there.

Where bright yellow beams circle, forks in the road, after dark;
Where snowflakes slide down columns, of light rays, that curve and arc.

Where lamps perched on tall lampposts illumine black ice and snow;
Where bright lights cover corners setting slick and safe aglow.

’Neath those light beams I first heard the silence of falling snow;
There quiet—gets quieter—as air currents shift and blow.

That’s the somewhere calling me back to its someplace sublime;
It appears to beckon me back home near Thanksgiving time.

Oft I go there in thought when family bustles my heart;
With think back memories of streetlights, big brothers, and art.

Isn’t it strange how small things leave a lifetime impression;
Or odd—how a simple scene—effects minds eye direction?

Like the charcoal version of a streetlight my brother drew;
The Lord’s face in its lightest light was hidden art some eyes can’t view.