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A Gift Left Behind

The breath of spring was wild and free
just after a winter's freeze
and the colorful birds of the eastern region
were singing with gracious ease.

The river was blue like the clearing sky
the waves in the breezes played.
The soil of the land was moist and prime
for seed in the month of May

High on a hill a man watched from a field
his drawn face character lined,
he watched the Terns as they rolled and reeled
on winds of familiar time.

Visions in waves he drew from the past
 the memories of a young man,
 true love had come to him fast
like a child he'd asked for her hand.

Beneath the starlit skies at night
his arms held her beauty so fair
Her golden hair in the soft moonlight
left a picture beyond compare.

But now her voice crying filled his ears
"move on," she cried, "move on."
Her final calling had come that year
and then she was ghastly gone.

He recalled....

When the wagons creaked and the wheels squeaked
and cedar rails marked the time
when family dreams were everything
and together was a frame of mind.
Now a Cadillac rests by the old woodshed
and the wagon rots in the barn
and the old homestead where the children lived
plays host to an old man's charms.

Then into his thoughts broke a sweet sound
to bring back the dead from the past
across the field there came running abound
a small curly haired lass.

"Grandpa, Grandpa," was her jubuilant shout,
"I've come to stay over the night!"
and into his arms she jumped just about
knocking him down with delight.

Her small face cradled next to his neck
he fought back the tears in his eyes.
Out of his vision came life out of death
in a gift that his love left behind.

                                Celtrue2000@E3B1G9

© Eric True