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Harry Behn - The Faraway Lurs - Avon/Camelot - 1969

Books of poetry Quiet, strong rivers of words Carry us away

Growing Up

When I was seven

We went for a picnic

Up to a magic

Foresty place.

I knew there were tigers

Behind every boulder,

Though I didn't meet one

Face to face.

When I was older

We went for a picnic

Up to the very same

Place as before,

And all of the trees

And all of the rocks were so little

They couldn't hide tigers

Or me anymore.

-Harry Behn

(illustration by Arnold Lobel)

Harry Behn smoking a peace pipe with a Blackfoot tribe, Glacier National Park, Montana, ca. 1916.

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