Down There Poem by Chester Whitfield

Down There



As a child I would often take a fishing pole
to the great stone dam behind my uncle's house
and cast out into the deep with wishes of landing something monstrous.
The ultimate struggle between boy and bass,
teetering on the edge of the perilous dam,
with the brooke slithering serenely away behind me towards the roads in the distance.
There was no greater joy than smelling the spring flowers creeping up from the surrounding bogs
and hearing the soft whispers of the spring singing to my every pleasure.
It was loneliness in the highest degree,
solitude with the birds and the trees,
I breathing for them and they for me,
I could have asked for no better day.
So bubble forth gentle brooke,
and bring happiness to the hearts of generations of youngsters,
future bankers and bums of America,
brought together under the same sense of calm and perfection,
beautiful sunshine and absolute ecstasy.

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