Ah, Boston

I haven't been to Boston since the year
Yastrzemski, bless him, won the triple crown.
My welcome there, gentle as eiderdown,
Inviting as an Elvis Presley sneer,
Has always seemed to call me back: "Come here,
Sweet traveller, returning to the Town
In your own yearning heart!" I smile, I frown,
I laugh, I cry; Sam Adams, both a beer

And Governor of Massachusetts once,
A solid citizen, a well-known pest,
A difficult but fascinating guest,
A flower in repose, a hardy dunce,
The brash exemplar, for a bit of bunce,
Of freedom. I'll go back. That would be best.