Old Kentucky

 Old Kentucky

John Clare Stokes

Let me return just once more

to the old Kentucky I’ve longed for

so long, the place of my first dreams

the Jessamine streams and woods

of fall, where we would walk in search

of the rabbits hidden by the slate fences

where we’d sit and rest for a spell 

as the long whistle from the coal train

strained the cool air to make it over

the High Bridge into the pristine white

fenced thoroughbred farms where the

Chestnut steeds reposed in lush retirement 

while all about the countryside on every barn 

wall and driveway, backboards were kept

in top condition, nets unfrayed and white

as into the night, the sounds of swish was

heard, a ritual repeated all across the 

commonwealth, the hope in every boy

to be among the number with ole Rupp

and his runts on the hallowed hardwood. 

Let me return just once more.