Webster Falls (2006)

Poem By Patrick Wescott

Maybe spring floods can wash it away
the grains of the past that cling like dust
Old town that seems like a stranger
washed into a resemblance of memory
White waters on the street where we played
but the banks of the river are long gone.

Some say it died they day we left
or it's been coming on like night
They want to believe it never changed
for the old park still stands there
But time has a way of burying the past
And blinds the old eyes to change.

Time has caught us like victims
and only old photographs remain
The hands tick away our memories
and the bell has finally tolled
But you can find specs of the past
where you can see the Webster Falls.

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