| A POEM ABOUT LAGO |
| Ann Leak sent this to me in an email. She received it from Joan Holland. |
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| I have not gotten Mr. Roland W. Peterson's permission to post the poem. I hope that if he sees the web site he will not be upset. If he does see the web site please either send me permission or if you rather, I will remove the poem. I hope to hear from him. Dan Jensen |
| THE FLAME by Roland W. Peterson We grew up next to the fence under the "Big Flame". We always thought that there wee two things that would never go away The Hooiberg and the Big Flame in the oil refinery. They gave us a sense of security and stability. Then . . . then one morning when we awoke There was no flame and no smoke As we rubbed our eyes that morning in eighty-five Was it real or was it just an illusion? Yes it was real, there could be no other conclusion. We felt hurt and betrayed Our eternal flame had not stayed Can't imagine our town without the flame Then came the days of playing the game of blame. Little did it matter to us who was to blame All we wanted was the flame to come back A flame above the highest stack So there we sat, our town in black. Then . . . one day The big iron monsters came this way The earth trembled as the stacks and tanks fell to the ground Dark clouds covered this once vibrant town We saw the streets forsaken Anger grew as we felt that we for a ride were taken. Then . . . one day The lights came back this way Look . . . look there arises a stack Our flame . . . our flame is back. So there it stands high and majestic once more Its glare again lights our town like before A town that almost fell asleep is awakening once more. |
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