Monday, August 02, 2004

The Old Swimming Hole
by James Whitcomb Riley

After reading this poem, I sighed deeply...I guess that means I am grown up now.
What a tragedy.
I remember this place and I find myself looking for it often.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This poem almost broke me. I remember a time when my second address was the swimming hole. Not a care in the world. Those times were the best! I also went back to my grandma's house up in the hills of Yamhill, to fish the old holes of my youth. I was so dissapointed seeing all the trees that had fallen and all the ruined holes that me and my dad would venture through. I remember it being so deep in spots that my dad would carry me. Now it looks like there is hardly any fish in the water. My dad gave me my first knife (the one he had as a kid), which I still have. The times having my line tangled. Many good times just being together. Unlike so much that is forgotten today, those days will live with me forever.