I find myself once again
In the Texas Hill Country
Where I grew up
And much looks to be the same
The hills are in their old accustomed places
If perhaps strewn more
With human encroachment
And much of what was strewn
While I was there before
And before that
Is yet in place
I remember too much
I remember too much of who I was then
And I am not proud of it
A small person
In a small world
Among many other small people
All of us trying to feel big
Except those who actually succeeded at it
How many of us are still in the attempt?
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