who think the world is
going to the dogs
and that everything
approached perfection
only in the
good old days.
they say winters today demand less of us,
and summers now are meek.
and yet little has really changed.
those who move away remember
the massive town hall,
the solid stone church,
the imposing brick schoolhouse.
yet when they return after many years,
they find the buildings
though identical in reality,
strangely shrunken in size and majesty
from the impression
memory produced.
to those who swear our young are on the road to perdition
take comfort in this—
every generation
has felt somewhat the same
for two or three thousand years
and still the world goes on.