Sunday, July 31, 2011
I heard the banjo in the breeze
Wafting gently on the Tennessee wind…
Crickets played the rye grass harps,
I dreamed of moving south again.
Sometimes I hear a Chinese gong,
Keeping rhythm in Kowloon…
Last night a skate blade cutting ice,
Split a frozen lake in Saskatoon.
These dreams occur more often now,
As the expiration dates draw near…
How would my life be different,
Had I settled anywhere but here?
The farmhouse in the San Joaquin,
Still the dream I miss the most…
The one reality I gave up,
While migrating towards the coast.
I miss those glorious yesterdays,
My incredible golden past…
Yet my life on the cliff on Penn Cove,
Is a true glory that also won’t last.