Friday is for Heart Songs
A Restful Friday
He who begat me was seventy-three
When in Pennsylvania, his last breath drew.
Now the oldest of his clan
Sits under clouds
And wonders at a ten and three horizon.
Will the years of grace in me match him?
Young grandson three
Young granddaughter one
In thirteen, he will drive.
In thirteen, she will blossom.
Shrill the voice from beyond the trees
Unseen but loud
. “Out of there, get out of the flowers”
And lifting my head
I see him, the “old man” next door–
head bowed, brown-backed and shuffle-footed,
he humbly searches for other prey.
Sniffing the freshly mown grass
and hoping for one more adventure.
We are not so different
Me and the pooch beyond my yard.
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