The aspen quake with the gentle breeze,
In a draw filled with grasses green.
Then I sit and stare at this land so clean,
And I see what my Dad has seen.
The miles and miles of endless sage,
Are now caressed by an evening breeze.
The sage is anchored by snarled roots,
And now I see what my Granddad’s seen.
Miles of grasses with seedling tips,
Wild flowers in the midst.
The kinds and colors before me now…
Too numerous to list.
The Indian Paintbrush – bold and red,
Intermittent beside the road.
Always so vibrant and wonderful.
Just as mother…their beauty had told.
The gentle sway of the meadow grasses,
Below the Maddux place.
Might explain the whirr in the trees,
And the awe in my watchful face.
For to visit a place as grand as this,
And experience its peace.
Is something one can never loose,
It’s a love that will not cease.
My Granddad loved this blessed place,
And will for all of time,
And so our thoughts are all with his…
I know it is - with mine.
Clint Gardner 2005
No comments:
Post a Comment