Monday, September 5, 2011



A peaceful summer evening, mild and clear
ripple clean lake water reflects
a silver still moon, bone bare,
on the shore, black pines and seldom silent popples,
dark cottages, almost shapeless small boats, humps indicative of cars

The children, my grandchildren, sleep
for them sweet dreams come easily,
no tossing, no turning
they are young, bothers fade

I stand outside, paying respects to the visit's first day

It is a day not mine, not really
it went faster than planned
the mark of a visit

I anticipated the visit
now that it's here
I find it most gone

For them, the grandchildren, it lasts
a bit longer, maybe even more

For me time flies
each year seems a moment

For them, the young, an hour's
time enough for most everything, a week
without end

I hear the hoot of an owl
a coyote, coy dog really, barks on the hill
something goes splash

I know time's passing
but tomorrow and tomorrow will come
and the visit will simply/merely have been

Everything passes
What my grandfather's grandfather and
his even before
knew privy
has long turned to ash
even their memories are now long forgot
they are gone and their children's children gone with the wind

When I was a youngster
Europe's wars weren't history
Hitler and Tojo really were there
their armies and navies, what are they now?

I anticipated this visit
now that it's here
I find it most over

It's not my time
It's the children's, the grandchildren

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