I distinctly remember, close to December , a dreadful dreary time of year|
My soul's dying ember -- a plea sent in weeping one lonesome tear.
It was that time -- set to the clicking ticking clock ever moving round,
So such a time in sorrow of each passing year my soul does drown.
It's the memory so faint of summers past, warmth of night--
Lonesome cotton fields covered by the fluting of musical crickets sound.
The surcease from sorrow in that sound I found.
How I remember that December of that dreary winter that did come
My soul so sad and weary -- O' so dreary of sorrow I could not escape from.
The first of winters to be alone -- alone, alone in sorrow I had grown,
Eighteen years of life come and past, strife life had heavily sown.
Only that sound by which was found a faint memory trail
It's a childhood house of happier times, but within walls no longer dwell.
Fluting soothing memory sound of crickets in mind compel.
Remembrance of Grandfather in my mind made clear that year,
A new life, a new house we found, for Grandmother was no longer here.
Still, till now I remember -- sitting, thinking in the dim lit night,
For Grandfather I would always be there, for him I would lovingly fight.
The whispers of summer heat -- with dim lit moon light all around--
Brought a happy song bound in long lasting sound,
A happy fluting of crickets by whispers of night summer found.
Was I so young to wish in wishes wished of dreams dreamt at night,
For it was a fear of loss, a weary thought given of protective might.
It came that year in hast so fast and yet faster, this thing upon life a cancer
A fear made clear -- for all my will, for all my might I knew the answer,
Grandfather had that evil cancer -- sons and daughters all knew,
Remembrance of hopelessness and fear so strongly that year grew--
And the sounds of fluting crickets played so true.
Grandmother and Grandfather would both from me be gone,
But, I would not falter for Grandfather I would be strong.
For him I would be here, for he raised me from birth year--
For him I would fight, for him I would help to clear his fear.
Daughters and sons had lives and from work they could not be free,
So you and me, you and me Grandfather, strength you will see--
The fluting of crickets outside played in key.
How I remember those final days at home, sorrow sown
I had to lift him, help him walk, I had to be strong.
I would not falter -- my body will listen, my body will listen--
My strength will hold, determination in mind, muscles will strengthen.
Grandfather was no longer strong, he was not the man I had known,
The strife in life -- that ever short life was taking back the lone
Trying to rest outside, I would listen to the fluting of crickets alone.
My neck stiff, shoulder muscles like stone stressed with pain,
I could no longer keep away a sleep -- strength I needed to gain.
O' for that one night of rest -- a short time of rest
Did angels not cry, was I the only one who did try to protest--
How I wanted to save him, how I tried magic and prayer too
Angels did not cry, did not try and cancer, the evil thing grew,
And the crickets outside to sleep they did me woo.
'Help me, I'm dying' -- came familiar words in a dream
'I'm dying, come to me' -- my body so stiff so dead it would seem
I cannot move, I cannot move, these muscles will not let me
'My time is here, I'm dying' -- Grandfather, a dream it has to be.
For I cannot move, my eyes, they will not open, they need rest
But I hear them, those songs so depressed--
Those cricket sounds so pressed.
It wasn't until the noon of day, by lone window sun light shining
I made my way, to Grandfather's side, something wrong in finding--
That he breathed, but there was no life in those eyes
No response to my words, no response to my cries
It was no dream, it was Grandfather who beckoned me
Called to me and I did not come, I did not see.
I had failed him, the cancer had taken him alone, alone--
I was not by his side at his time, he faced death alone, alone--
I had faltered I had failed -- to sleep I never should have trailed.
The day passed, the week passed, the December passed.
Alone, alone I found myself, trapped in memory of Grandfather' death.
When summer once more did once more cross my lonely path.
I stood alone, alone, in cotton fields lit by moonlight dim.
Listening to that sad fluting of crickets, its sound so grim.
© 2010 Epithet
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