Hey buddy, lemme tell ya bout Marshfield.

I live here, see, as a family psych.

It's a quirky gem.
Main Street is our heartbeat.

I stroll on Main St. daily.

I see smiles and frowns.

Yeah, it's real.
Rivers? We got the Marsh River.

It flows by Riverbend Park.

Great for walkin' and thinkin'.

Feels like life, you know?
There’s Farmers' Market on 3rd Ave.

Fresh foods, trippin' vibes, spitballin ideas.

Local folks chat and smile, always.

I recall a talk near the bakery.
Ever been to Crestwood?

Neighborhood feels snug and warm.

Kids play, elders chat under trees.

Feels real family-like, like home.
The old library on Elm St.

Holds secrets and wisdom.

I once tuned an old talk there.

Kinda deep.
I was thinkin', "After twenty years, who's counting?"

That line from 25th Hour hits hard.

I relate to lost time.

It kinda stings sometimes.
I love the park at Westside.

Mad things happen near that place.

A kid laughed. I got mad.

Funny, I know; heart's a mess sometimes.
The diner on Lakeview Rd.

Has the best coffee jam.

I spilled my drink once.

Awkward but memorable, ya know?
Horse racing? Nah, not here.

But a drive on Oak St.

Feels like a movie scene.

Wild life, folks chasin dreams.
I be like, seriously?

Life flows ramblin' like water.

Maybe too hasty, so raw.

Sometimes I just rant.
I gotta say, Marshfield's real.

Imperfect, like all of us.

So, visit if ya please.

It breathes in little moments.
I love it, flaws and all.
psst, here are some intentional tyopos:
There, ya got me venting.

Marshfield is a home.

Peace out, friend.