Poetry from the summer cottage

While we were vacationing at her family's summer cottage, Marie and I started writing a poem about it. Nothing original, mind you! The whole structure was a parody of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Kubla Khan. But it was a fun exercise. I'd render a stanza, then she'd do the next one, and so on. And we gave each other feedback, of course. I wound it up by doing the last 18 lines in a block, but I didn't show them to her at the time. I have just now put the whole thing in an email to her, and of course I want to post it here too. (If she makes any corrections, naturally I will update this post.)

I have changed a couple of proper names, in the hopes of preserving a shred of anonymity. With those changes made, here it is. 

In Village Green did Old Granddad 

A summer cottage once decree: 

Where still the Village Channel ran, 

From fancy boat docks made by man, 

Out to an inland sea.

So twice five rods of sandy ground, 

With laws and signs were girdled round.

 And there were planters bright with flow'ry frills, 

And feeders hummingbirds to see; 

And here were sand dunes' transient hills, 

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

And oh! That frail decaying boardwalk tottered, 

O'er sand dunes covered thick with hardy grasses, 

Down to the sandy beach the lake has watered, 

Where children with exhausted mothers bartered, 

To let them play some more as daylight passes!

And near this boardwalk in the sunlight stretching, 

Towards gulls that ever little fish are catching, 

The mighty lake forever beats the shore, 

Its waves still pushing sand up all the more: 

Which sand, its grains more numberless than hail, 

The wind doth scour against the boardwalks frail.

And as this sand deposits on the beaches, 

The summer breeze back through the harbor reaches, 

And owners of the boats their leisure take. 

From all the fancy harbors built by man, 

Along the Village dock's entire span, 

They steer their crafts to play upon the lake;

And mid this play Old Granddad heard reports

Of generations talking dogs and sports.

The shadow of the summer cottage

Rested midway on the dunes. 

And all the new electric wattage

Played some soft and gentle tunes.

The evening needed no device, 

But drinks and tumblers full of ice.

An aunt who played the autoharp,

On a porch swing once I heard:

She was my uncle's beaming bride,

And on her autoharp she plied,

While gazing at a hummingbird.

When I recall within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight it wins me,

That though the travel takes so long,

I'll settle on that cottage porch!

The planters bright! The drinks with ice!

And all who come will see me there,

Sitting in the rocking chair,

While dozing in the summer air.

Here's backgammon -- roll the dice,

And move the counters, black and red.

For we on barbecue have fed,

And eaten bowls of Blue Moon ice.

 

FIN