The memory I gift to you, is Dartmouth summer days,
Walks down twisty roads and lanes, corn stalks and new mown hay.
War number two is past us now, the wounds begin to heal.
Clam cakes, quahogs, ice cream and frogs, boats anchor, sail and keel.
They're all just part the town of Dart keeps in it's summer treasury.
Blueberries wild, beaches for miles, linguica and libraries.
A summer day in Dartmouth may smell of fish, or sea.
It's tides, you know, and breezes blow, the one that comes to thee.
Late afternoon dictates that soon those vegetables called native
like corn, tomatas, squash and 'tatas are gathered for our dinner.
Cold shower sprays will wash away the salt and sand by chance
this summer's eve will take its leave by hosting first a dance.
A summer day in Dartmouth before ipads, games and texts
always ended on a high note wondering who one might meet next.