Have you ever wondered where time has gone,
When it’s used up by you and by me?

Well, it travels through space to a wonderful place,
A place that you simply can’t see.

Here it feeds through equipment that’s quite long and quite lean,
A recycling contraption called The Memory Machine.

It has gadgets and gizmos and movements quite slick,
With gears that go grinding, nuts and bolts that go click.

There’s an opening on top where times past enter in,
And beneath that a chamber with mirrors that spin.

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Moths darting overhead, fluttering in the light.
Crickets chirping in the field. Frogs croaking out of sight.
Lightning bugs flash in and out of bushes, grass, and weeds.
A velvet sky holds stars that glow like glistening glimmering beads.

There you would find us, Nancy and me,
Sitting on the corner curb next to the old elm tree,
Under the streetlight, on a warm summer’s night
Telling scary stories that were sure to cause a fright.

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In forest deep, filled fair with pine,
On banks where laughing waters shine,
Night spreads along Chicaugon shore.
Wigwams long gone; canoes no more.
Pensive, pondering, here I roam,
O’re paths of sandstone, rock, and loam.
North wind, whispering, curls the air
With legends of the tribal lair.

Stars of magic, moon of light,
Shimmer golden midst the night.
Draped upon a darkened stage,
Guide me to another age.
Age of ancient tribal ways,
Ojibwa spirits dance in praise.
From the new world they come forth—
Dazzling visions in the North.

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