Fiddle and Fife
The notes of music of this common life
Are written for both fiddle and the fife;
Heard as lilting strings for light dancing feet,
Leading marchers down middle of the street.
We experience the first more today.
Give thank goodness for the fine bands who play
Music to sweeten a quite common day;
For parades only, in step, marchers sway.
June's gone, awaiting real Independence Day.
Shortly, summer will bring a sunshine's ray
To ward off the thunder and drenching rains,
So burgers can cook over hot coal flames.
We are those people of this little town
Settled here, none of us, of much renown
Who go about their business day to day,
Many loved dance, some marched away.
A town is built of sticks, mortar and stone ;
People created of sinew, blood and bone.
Neighborhoods spring from proud owners who hope ;
The family, it's strength, finds ways to cope.
You may find a farmer born, and raised here
Caring for the fields and flocks, fencing deer.
Some tell us how Pottstown's really doing,
Walking dogs, picking flowers, stove stewing.
Ronald C. Downie.
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