The Path

"He's a mess of a dreamer", that's what they'd say,
When they'd see him standing there, day after day,
With tears on his cheeks, and stories in his eyes,
Desolately standing, from sunset to sunrise -

And if you stopped and took the time to ask,
He'd break out with a story, smiling to mask -
All the pain he swallowed, deep in his heart,
Standing by the gate and slowly falling apart.

In Fall's early morning shudder, the breeze -
Caught around his ankles, danced with the leaves,
And on this old path, he stared down memories,
Cracking his porcelain face he smiled when he'd see -

Her standing beside him, nestling a newborn baby,
Choking back tears he'd say: "Then she told me -
She'd be by my side forever, never letting go,
Of the man that she was so proud to have known."

His eyes would go wide, when he finished and stared,
Down the dirt-trodden path to an oak tree, now stripped bare,
And in the bark, if you looked close you could see,
Two names carved in a heart, "George loves Amy."

He'd stop himself before he'd regretfully say,
To another person, how his wife died that day,
But he never forgot, the face of that young man,
When he shot the gun, laughing, he turned and ran.

And holding her hand, that old man solemnly vowed,
To stand for his life, despite the attention of the crowd,
In this old winding path, where sixty long years ago,
He kissed her for the first time, golden stars aglow.

And that old man, he kept his promise until his death,
Working up the courage, he shook with his last breath,
With a tear in his eye, as he crouched with no one,
To hold his aged hand, under the crisp setting sun.

-Jenna Elphick
May 4, 2007