By Pete Tucker

Ponderous questions formulated
When I was but the age of three.
At the end of the lane they lingered,
Noises heard only by me.

Distant rumblings, not identified.
I conjured notions that might explain.
Indeed, something was up there,
An indistinct, curious refrain.

So, I ventured to the blacktop road.
It was only a half of a mile.
Hearing would be believing
And, at age three, I had a while.

I arrived there at the pavement
To learn from whence came the noise?
There were no distant rumblings!
Could it be that all were ploys?

I stood earnestly to listen.
But silence there reigned,
Yet on my return, still the rumblings
At home  were unexplained.

In my little kid quandary,
I opted to return to the farm.
There were no noises at lane’s end,
Not even cause for alarm.

So I walked back down yonder
Down the lane and past the herd.
To my surprise as I neared the barn,
That distant rumbling again I heard.

Now my world was playing tricks.
And I was caused to ponder.
The kid in me just let it go
But, on occasion, I would wonder.

So, that forlorn noise remained a mystery
Over time I was still unsure.
Just what was that in this kid’s ear
That, to this day, is so obscure?