Retrogression

The following poem was generously contributed by Earl Pfanstiel, thanks Earl!
I have transcribed it from the original Newspaper Article.
There is no date, but the back of the paper has an advertisement
for a man's Jantzen swim suit, it is two piece and the cost was $2.95-$4.95.
I think this would date it perhaps in the 1930's, if anyone knows the year, please write me.

Grassy Creek Inspires Kenton Man to Poetry

F. E. Schoolfield, "poet laureate of Kenton County," spent his youth, 60 years ago, in the small village
 of Demossville in the Grassy Creek Community of Pendleton County.

In the following poem, he recall its environs of that era, and dedicates "Retrogression"
 to the citizens of Demossville and their neighbors of the Grassy Creek Community.

"Retrogression"

An old fashion village at the foot of a hill,
Where the river flows swiftly along
A grass-grown millrace, where once stood a mill
On a branch of Grassy Creek prong.

This village, a mile from the state highway,
Where bridges span Three Forks of Grassy,
A church in the bend where we used to attend---
Vox populi almost emmassy.

Green are the hills surrounding this vale,
All jagged like saw teeth appearing;
The low of the cow, and the call of the quail
Are heard when night is a-nearing.

An iron bridge across where Medcalf's ford,
Once offered the only solution
Of crossing the creek in safe accord
To the lad and the lass institution.

Some steppingstones can still be seen
On which we crossed the water,
Though 60 years have passed between
The far-off time to alter.

The old country road and the Wolpen Bridge
Are obsolete, gone and forgotten;
For those who used them have crossed the bridge
Where remembrances are forboten.

The barefoot boy(s) who trampel this road,
In search of cows and their wild, young kine,
Are now bowed with age, or have changed their abode
For a home at that Heavenly Shrine.

Where the road climbed a bluff to the ancient village,
The creek wild waters, when flood tides were high,
Have assaulted the banks with erosion and pillage
'Till none can tell now where the road went by.

Yet there stands the tree in its green foliage dressed,
Where we stopped when the sun was oppressively hot
And with joy in out hearts our pleasure expressed
For delightful relief in these cool, shady spots.

It now stands as a landmark on memory's road,
Recalling the days when the world seemed young,
Denoting the footsteps youth ever had trod
And echoing the songs youth ever had sung.

The home of my boyhood had my sincere affection,
When childhood perspective of worldly affairs
Depended most wholly on parental direction,
Relieving my mind of all worries and cares.

It still stands on the knoll just facing the river,
An inviting old homestead, though needing repair;
The green rolling lawn just as pretty as ever
And the wraith of my people are hovering there.

To recall those bright days a passing procession
Of panoramic views come trailing, along
"Til some cherished scene attracts my attention
And causes my music to break into song.

Well! We old ones can truthfully say
Those pioneer days were a blessing,
For the lads and lassies were always gay,
With never a moment distressing.

Then hence a toast to the days that have flown
To the swains and the maids as we knew them,
To the friends and acquaintances dead and gone,
To the fleeting years that slew them.

Return to "Memory Lane"