Sunday, April 7, 2013
a very early poem
Two years ago, I went to Blue Springs, Missouri for my mother's funeral. While there, I rummaged through the old, large cedar chest, filled with mementos. All kinds of old family stuff. I brought several boxes of that stuff back home with me to Arkansas. Only recently have I felt like going through it. This morning, I found a poem I had written, probably from when I was in the seventh or eighth grade.
The sky is a strange thing
When observed from below.
It seems so tranquil in the daytime
Its largeness makes it bold.
And I cannot describe
What the sky means to me;
Its downy clouds and blueish shades
All seem to be
A picture or a scene for us
To look upon amazed,
And ease us from all toil and fuss
Throughout our own cloudy days.
O sky, so high and so vast;
Tell me of thy ageless past.
Only you know what has been before this time,
And only you will remain,
Till the last church bells chime.
I endeavor only to ask you
One favor and that's all;
That you will cause your warm breezes and blue skies
To shine on my grave,
When I shall die!
Reading that denouement, I had to smile. The poem is a pleasant rhyming meditation on the sky. But then (cue the Fate motif from Beethoven's 5th), a poem must conclude with...the GRAVE!