I was talking with Gloria about signs, and mentioned meadowlarks and
my mom. I wrote this poem about my mother and myself (and shared it
with her) one month before she died suddenly in June 2000. I've
posted it before, but "young summer" seems like a good time to
remember again.
Your Meadowlark
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Now in young Summer or in aging Spring,
Entering odor of jasmine, I hear your Lark
Call from some plot by the roadside. Every thing
Stands on its shadow stiff and shallow and stark,
As memory brightens, and this world goes dark.
Cares and years would try to tear and sever
My soul from those sweet thoughts that seem to mark
The past; some Force would rather that I never
Rise in song. No! I must endeavor
To keep the Girl, the Lark, and all things Vernal
Fresh, alive, blossoming, beautiful forever,
Fondly tended and treasured as Truths Eternal.
The notes I hear those notes to memory bring;
Your heart and mine will always hear Him sing.
(Written by Daniel / deltaechomike@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
in May 2000.)
[Wow, a sonnet!]
Peace,
--
Daniel ( deltaechomike@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
)
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