Double BassAged old wood,
So strong with the years,
It stood there when I was six,
And will stand there forever,
In my memory.
Jack’s old double bass,
So tall to my 3 foot-tall self,
That I couldn’t quite see the top.
Its sound as deep as the roots of the old sequoia trees,
Its look as strong as the waves that crashed
On the California beaches.
In all the time in that house,
Forever filled with the familiar sweetness
Of Julia’s freshly baked peach cobbler,
That double bass just stood there,
In the shadowy corner of the room.
The shadows of time and years spent away
Will never take it all away.
I can still hear its sound,
See its rustic polished wood,
Somehow shining as bright as the California sun,
That I know will never fade.
And I can still smell the sweetness of the peaches
That I will one day taste again,
And it will be just the same,
As it used to be,
When I was six.
[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2013 EDITION]
Copyright © 2002-2011 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2011 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.