LONG SPENT FIRES

Sometimes when the moon is full

And the campfire flickers low, 

A sudden spark lights up the dark

Rekindling thoughts of long long ago.

And my mind recalls a distant day

As bright embers stir the fire,

Days of youthful romance,

Wistful dreams and old desire.

Days when mountain meadows

Were lush and green and fair,

When cowboys combed the hills for strays

And the sound of clanking cowbells filled the air;

When men donned slickers and hit the trail,

Despite inclement weather,

When canvas tents were lamp lit,

And smelled of kerosene and well oiled leather.

I can almost see old Hangtown,

When her streets were dust or mud,

When her storefronts smelled of weathered wood

And gold was in our blood.

In my mind, I walk her boardwalks

Passed the Hangman’s Tree saloon,

And I cross the street at Cary House

And dine there on the balcony by the moon.

From my perch I see the Round Tent

As it juts into the street,

With horses nosing wooden troughs.

I can almost smell molasses as they eat.

And across from that, the Bell Tower,

With It's well-known promenade,

And Main Street’s old rut riddled course,

Past the Court House, widening for the grade.

How the old days call me back

Rekindling old desires,

Revisiting youthful romance

And stirring coals of long spent fires.

Dear God, preserve our memories

Of dear folks on Reservoir Hill,

And grant me many fireside dreams

Of moonlit nights in good old Placerville. SC