In New Freeport, there are wonderful
things, rich and wonderful things.
Old houses made of dark crumbling
Wood that remembers what was,
A dry waterless sandy creek
And an old and tired bench
Where an old grandmother sat
And turned, with bent and gnarled
Fingers, the pages of a book
While whispering magical words
That filled a child's imagination.
Keep moving past a graveyard where
Old and broken and long forgotten cars
That yesterday were shiny new cars that
Once took children to faraway colorful fairs.
And past some jumping deer going up a
Steep hill to get back to the forest to hide,
To get back to familiar safe places.
A shiny white gazebo stands alone on
The grand grass where dolls sit
Wearing fancy hats and having sweet tea.
To get to this place you will need to
Go the other way, go that other way,
Go a different way to be taken away.
© 2010 Marjorie Levine
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