I sometimes think back
Through the years,
Of crystal sets
And burning ears.
The early days
Of radio,
My hobby
Always on the go.
Winding coils
And stringing wire,
I’d struggle hard
To hang it higher.
Then listen for
The slightest sound
Of any station
To be found.
My little room,
I must confess
Was full of wire,
Oh what a mess,
But I, a most
Untidy boy
Found crystal sets
To be a joy.
Honestly I have no clue what a 'crystal set' is but I love the visual I get with this poem......that young boy trying to find a station. Very nice. Sincerely. Mary
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Indeed George, those were the days, such excitement when you actually made contact, so to speak, and look at us now. Unbelieveable! Sincerely Ernestine Northover