Looking Back

Growing up, my grandfather’s farm boundried on Flint Creek.

Granny and I would go fishing almost every week.

From papa’s house to the creek was a long walk,

but time passed quickly as Granny and I would talk.

The creek was wide and deep, the water swift where we

fished at the Royer Rock.

Life was good, no watch, no time clock.

But time goes on and half a century has gone by.

The farm is now owned by two cousins, who shared the fishing

hole with Granny and I.

Recently a family renunion at the farm, allowed me to revisit the creek.

The water was neither wide, nor deep, but quiet and meek.

And I realized that things we remember as a child of nine or ten.

Take on whole new meanings when we revisit them as men.

Dale Hensley