Ruth Carey Poems

I grew up in Riverdale. IN the 1930's. Caves and woods. Warm spring days, long summer
evenings, crisp autumn, slanted sunlight. On the radio: "Jack Armstrong, the all-American boy!"
"This is CX-4, calling Control Tower.
Captain Midnight, coming in!"
...

The flags are flying, the banners waving,
the men are weeping, over by the wall.
They are full of memories,
All the dead soldiers. The flags are flying, the pennants flowing,
...

meander, meander, where shall it go
across the stream to the rocky flow
over the current, over the wave
over the crest to a watery grave will I follow it there, and then nevermore
...