Monday, November 28, 2005


photo by barry murre


Where’s the boy
whose dark eyes laughed
as he ran the pastured hills?

And the boy
who drove the tractor
that furrowed October’s brow?

And where’s the boy
who knew what the brook
was babbling about?

Where’s the boy who knew
how the oak would split
when it was ready to be fire?

And the boy
who delivered the steaming calf
when it was breeched?

And where’s the boy
who dreamed the dreams
and told them to a dog?

Has he gone into town, then?
Taken the smooth-paved road?
Do you expect he’ll be back?

- Ralph Murre

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