Louis Larsen worked as an English instructor for the majority of his adult life. In that time, he produced many works in both novels and poetry. Louis also worked as a ghost writer for many others, as well as newspapers throughout Utah. The works here represent those left to the family, both published and unpublished. Much of his work reflects a haunting feeling of loss, pain and betrayal. This comes from the loss of his son, Thomas Larsen, in World War II. Tom served with the 85th Mountain Infantry of the 10th Mountain Division, where he served with distinguished honor, and paid the ultimate price for his commitment. Tom lost his life on Riva Ridge, Mount Belvedere in February, 1945. This loss haunted Louis for the remainder of his life. Many of his poems reflect this pain and leave a legacy of the emotional priced paid in the wake of war.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

The Old Days

My neighbor is a pioneer;
I see him now and then.
Sometimes I pause to lend an ear
To wisdom in the ken
Of tailors in another day
When sounded tread of feet
Along the frontier's pathless way
That's now a city street.

"Ah yes, I've seen 'em come and go."
He says in musing vein;
"I've lived through wind and sun
And snow,
I've battled drought and rain.
I've rooted sages from the land
Where threes and flowers thrive.
In every task I've lent a hand--
To keep the dream alive--
The dream that now is coming true,
The dream of wealth and ease.
The legacy belongs to you--
To do with as you please."

There was a twinkel in his eye;
An airplane droned o'er head;
A shining motor scudded by
I pondered what he said.

"I sometimes think--" He spoke again;
"I'd rather have those days--
That time of toil and humger when
We lived the simple ways.
At least, I know, we had the boon
Of neighbors that we knew.
If trouble came, at night or noon,
They'd call and see us through.
And we were grateful, too, my lad--
Coarse fare and rustic dress;
Contentment, aye, with what we had--
And that's true happiness.
Of this I'd rather have one ounce
Than tinseled joys galore;
It isn't what you have that counts,
But what you're striving for!"

He tapped his cane upon the ground
And smiled with kindly grace
At all the wonderment he found
Impressed upon my face.

A siren sounded down the street,
I heard the news-boy call,
I walked away in sad retreat
To think about it all.

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