Gifts that Go and Still Stay

In the golden magic time,
Long before the so-called prime--
When days were green and years were good--
When years were slow and days were rich with time--
The deep eternal days of fleet childhood--
My happy heritage and great good luck it was
To live among a good people and a great family.
Time has made deep changes, as it always does;
But always, in my memory,
Those faded shades of the vanished mist shall still stay sharp to see.
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I had my grandmother--God's queen on earth--
Whose wonderful wise old face and kindness were of infinite worth;
I had my brother and sisters to play,
And give my gold imagination its greatest girth,
To make real all the childhood dreams of day.
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I had my forest of trees, and my blue-with-white-fleece sky;
I had my cousins and aunts and uncles and grand-folk in cherished love.
I had a charm of slow-seeming days that sweetly swiftly fly,
And leave the stars and moon and sun unchanged above.
God knows all things below heaven must change,
As sea-foam feeds upon a mortal cove.
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I had fragrances and fragments and feasts and fountains;
I had bird-wings, bee-buzzings, flower-petals,
Strange multi-legged marvels,
And rich red clay.
I had distant snow-capped whispering mountains.
I had magic friends and fantasies with which to play.
In later childhood, I gained the gift of my two sisters and brother;
And for a fleet few years, we lived as one strong joyful band.
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I had a mind and heart and body that soaked up all the world:
As flowers soak up sunshine with outspread petals and leaves--
And, with hungry, thirsty roots, search into the garden earth,
And soak up rain and the richness of the ancient land.
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I had a father who always took good care of his family:
Much more than many fathers may justly say.
He was the first of us to fall into eternity,
Drowned in darkness, deprived of day.
Unless God gives him new good life again, for which I pray.
I hope to hold his hand and--somewhere, some time--together stand.
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Above all blessings, I had my mother:
At first, a singer of lullabies, with the sweet first sound of human love,
Deeper and truer than any other;
Light-years far, and years later, I remember her like love, life, and light.
She sang ballads and songs, better than any troubadour;
The first inspiration in my life: book-loving, lavish with learning and lore;
The best inspiration in my life: my poetry-reading mother.
The heartbeat of her calming love made music of time's churning sand.



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Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Copyright (C) 2011 by Michael L.P.  All rights reserved