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The Stagecoach, Love, and Memories
I recall the times when, as a child Sitting at my Grandfather’s knee, My young mind rendered captive By the stories he’d relate to me. Long ago, 'twas in his younger days As he sought to earn a living, Tourism seemed to flourish then As transportation was achieving New milestones as travelers from afar Saw Maine the place to spend a while, From as far away as Boston they came, To “The Forks” hotel, that seemed to smile Over the Kennebec from a lengthy porch, Illegal liquor flowed freely in those days, And in this remote corner of the world Many found a distant hiding place. My Granddad drove the stagecoach From Skowhegan to the Forks, Thirteen dollars, round trip, it cost… Seventeen cents for meals, the works! Along the way, a lovely bondwoman Won his heart, and so he gladly paid The price of her redemption, thus A marriage in Heaven was made. So many tales he longed to tell, And I, of course, eager to listen, Once or twice, I’d notice how My Granddad’s eyes would glisten As he lived the days so dear to him, Painfully aware they now were gone, I’d hear it in his voice, see it in his smile: Memories still meant for him alone.
July-2003 © All Rights
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