The Green Forest tribune., 1917-06-01
Retrospection.

he good old days when our town was young As was its population too, Comes drifting back down memory's page
 Which is written with names of some of you. But the few who still remain
 On the earthwsrd shore of time, Are gay and young of heart,
 And life seems in it's prime. There's J. H. Ramsey, A. J. Cox and Mir. Butt As gay as any boys, You'd think, to see them step about,
 That life was full of joys MT. skinkle frisks about just like any kid,
 And, when his wife is not along, He makes eyes and fiirts-
 Just like he always did. MT. Porter is younger than his wife, by far,
 He proves the old saying true That you're as young as you feel you are, Mir John Buell., with his Abraham Lincoln style,
 Makes you feel that the worlds all right When he greets you with his smile. Mrs. skinkle is that giddy,
 With her skip and hop and song, Oh I'd blush to relate the way she carries on When her ma is not along. Mrs. Sneed's life has been one of labor,
 Smoothing the path for tired feet. Lifting loads from burdened shoulders And dispensing good to all she meets. Mir and Mrs. Foreman must have place on
 memory's wall
 Altho they left friends tried and true, To answer Siloams call. Ther are others not so old, But they're out of swaddling clothes, And if they want to play in the younger set
 Why let them, goodness knows. Now, there Mike Coxsey, who thinks he's
 chpper his wife,
 But he isn't much to look at don't think
 do you?
 Yet you wouldn't know he's growing old
 If he didn't show his face, For his laugh still rings true. A. J. Russell and F. o. Butt
 Are products of our town, But they've outgrown their old surroundings And are legal lights of some renown. Another supporter of our town
 Is none other than Charlie Kirkham, When he was sheriff and our boys went wild, Do you mind how he'd jerk'm? But the man who put upon the map our little
 burg,
 Is none other than J. L. Russell, of whom
 I'm sure you all have heard. He's gone out now in rescue work, to our
 weaker sister town,
 To bring it up, if possible, to our standard
 of renown. And there's Miss Crockett of the famous
 Crockett hotel
 She runs her house with steady hand.
 And runs 1t passing we'll. knew her in the days agone, when life was ripping song, When the vista reached out far and bright, But IL lureu us to where the SnauOWs are long. Lee Smith thinks he's kittenish- Much more than his editor wife. He's the greatest buffer at being young You ever saw in your life But the tell tale frost in his temples, When he doesn't keep it dyed, Is proof to me he's reached the summit And started down on the other side. Jim Reeves forgets that the hand of time Deals with all alike And that he cannot deceive the years
 By pretending he's as young as his wife. Our paths have varied since the journey first begun,
 To some the rosy tints of morn have hung in the sky all day, While to others the clouds hang low, and almost abstract the way. But, dear friends, we Il be cheery for we haven't missed the route, We've reached the place where the shadows lengthen And the evening stars are out,- Each milestone now reminds us That we're on the sundown-way, But the shades that fall in the twilight Herald the dawn of our perfect day
 Mrs Ollie Bedding The above poem was read by Mrs. Bedding at "Ye Old lyme Concert" given by the ladies of the Home Mis- sion society of the M. E. s. church, and it's thru her kindness that we are per mitted to publish it. Ed.