Ode to Emset Park

The real name is Edson Park, of course, but when our kids were little, the oldest could not say Edson at first, so it became Emset, our magical, mystical place. We would always stop on our way to Jasper to let them stretch their legs and for the washrooms. On our trip to Jasper this time, we stopped at the “coffee recycling station”.

Way back in time, this golden place

was where we would stop

to let the kids race

in a magical land, to a jet high atop

a spire adorned base.

For a short time, we would let them loose

near railway hand car,

and if they weren’t too tired and it wasn’t too far,

perhaps on to the railroad caboose.

Much time and so many trips have passed us by,

like the fleeting glimpse of our youth

and each time we spy it, remember we try

to see if our recollections still hold truth.

These days, on our road trips to Jasper,

we could never dare drive past there,

without recalling the place and how it was named,

but without our young children, it’s just not quite the same.

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4 thoughts on “Ode to Emset Park

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