Mindsinger

 

The years have flown away, my love,

and suddenly we are not young.

Do you know, old man,

when the stairs grew long and high?

Do you know what happened to the spring in your step,

or the silky shine of my hair?

 

Can you tell me why

we didn’t grow wise a little sooner?

Why we used so thoughtlessly

the treasures we were born with?

Our riches are almost gone.

They slipped away in golden sunsets

and meadows of buttercups.

 

Some, we spent wisely.

The tender moments of love;

the awesome hours of childbirth and parenthood.

And the laughter, old man, the laughter!

And the times when, caught up in labors of love,

we sought the night for rest

and ease from happy exhaustion.

 

Oh, yes, some we spent wisely.

I almost think the wisdom and the laughter

made up for some of the foolishness.

for the many times we did not love,

or those empty days when we allowed boredom

to capture our imagination

and hold our creativity in bondage.

 

Some would label many of our hours unproductive.

As we walked the fields or sat in silence

beside a singing stream.

But I rejoice in knowing we took the time

to lay up some treasures for today!

 

Ah, but they are done so soon, my love!

Like the tide rushing out to sea,

the past keeps flowing away.

And we are not the sea.

And we are not the shore.

 

No, my love, we are but grass;

alive in this form only for a season -

owing our existence to those who stood here yesterday,

paying that debt with seed for tomorrow.

 

But we stood tall, old man!

Though we are bent and lame just now,

we remember when our bodies were young and whole

and capable of expressing our love for life

and for one another!

 

Don’t weep, old man.

Though we may be allowed a sigh or two.

But only one or two,

for we have each other and we are not alone.

 

When the day comes to part.

On that day when one of us spins away on the sea tide-

the one remaining will sway on the shoreline -

ragged and tattered in the sunshine,

but wise, old man!

 

Knowing full well our days are not ended.

Knowing you wait beyond seeing

but not beyond reaching.

waiting, old man, my love, for my own journey

on the sea.

And the incredible journeying beyond.

 

But, just now, hold me close.

Enjoy these hours of quiet

when we can finally take the time

to know ourselves and each other.

When we can spend the last and most precious

of our golden moments wisely.

But with abandon and joy, old man!

With abandon and joy!

“““““““““““““

c.2011/ SPLINTERS OF LIGHT, Donna Swanson