Memories.

Birthplace, a memoir.

prologue :

My birth paper says, young Jim is a male, apparently I was - hearty and hale.

Very soon after, my family drifted away - to another town, for just a short stay.

Life in the depression: my ensuing years, were a very long session.

Now, Jim is a contraction of a much bigger name.

Perhaps, the two my folks chose they thought would bring fame.

Well, it never happened. I don’t really care.

They’ve all served me well, no need for despair.

**

memories :

Time came for needing to visit this town

where I was born during a depressions frown –

so  I,

wandered ‘round Woodstock a few years in the past,

it didn’t bring memories, but it sure was a blast.

You see, I was too young to remember those days,

some are just figments, most are a - recounted haze.

A small Private Hospital in the town of Woodstock.

I stood quiet on the footpath after walking the block,

up from the station, yes there once was a train.

Maybe it moaned as they both took the strain.

The train does not run now. It’s probably lost and forlorn

in some rusty ol’ rail shed, it’s whistle long gorn,

but the footpath’s still dusty and perhaps in a fleet

 -  of a moment  -

I saw the impressions of

my parents feet.

© Rimeriter.

memoir 3/9/11.