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I walk down this well worn trail
on which I've often walked before
it winds through both woods and dale
and beside a small pond's shore.

Nowadays I walk alone
and usually I'm lost in thought
undistracted by cell phone,
I think of things which time has wrought.

The forests turned to parking lots.
Gone now the woods walked in my youth.
Houses now put in tiny slots.
I try but can't deny the truth.

So instead I sit on an old stump
but first check for fire ants
lest they dine on my big rump
requiring me to doff my pants.

Soon the silence of mid day
grasps the world in its embrace.
I almost can here lost playmates say
let go on a sylvan race.

I close my eyes, open my mind
and think back on the olden days
and all the folks I've left behind
in the years' devouring haze.

I hear my father casting flies
the swish of line in rod's eyelets
the splash of strike, a mild surprise
fishing trips which nobody forgets.

Then my brother appears at my side
asking if I have picked out a stand
where some big ol' buck might hide
bearing antlers wide and grand.

But "Supper time!" My mother calls.
So we all head in to eat
in a dining room (now void of walls).
fried fish, venison; a woodsman's treat.

Uncles, cousins and grandparents
all seated at the long table.
I give thanks for all their presence
and enjoy it while I'm still able.

Everybody talks at the same time
yet the conversation is heard by all.
During this visit back in time
on a warm day in the late fall.

Then the wind blows and a limb breaks
and the rift is gone joining that place
and suddenly my old heart aches
for all those gone beyond embrace.

Eyes open and here I am.
Their voices gone like fleeing humming birds.
Tears flow as from a broken dam.
A deep sadness beyond all words.

But a thought suddenly comes to my mind
which stops the flow and gives me hope.
That rift might not be from times behind:
I could have seen it from some future scope.

I rise then upon aching knees
considering my final fate
shown to me as a haunting tease.
Yet I know that I will have to wait.
before I feel that final breeze

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
Editing stage: 


Yeah, it could be from the future. Who knows? As far as I know, no one has come back and said "Hey, I'm in Heaven or I'm awfully hot here! LoL I guess we will just have to wait and find out for ourselves. Nice job, but let's concentrate on something uplifting and write about what we are going to do when this is all over. I know that my wife is already thinking of the warmer days ahead, she wants to get the patio cleaned up so that we can sit outside in the fresh air; even if we can't go anywhere, at least we can enjoy the outdoors!

Come to Chat on the Darkside
every other Saturday night 8pm to ?
Bring your dark and delicious work
to show.

Yes this virus will also pass with time. So does gas lol. Thanks for taking time to read this longish write

author comment

I would suggest changing the nobody to noone just a thought otherwise as always you poem tells a story that takes the reader there with you

Let your mercy spill on all those
burning hearts in hell( L.Cohen)

I've never read that word.Please give the definition

author comment

sorry no one or anyone

Let your mercy spill on all those
burning hearts in hell( L.Cohen)

Dang things stalk Me too

author comment

I will watch you as you walk as is my bent.
The children showed me how to join you each day,
as and when I am discreetly allowed.
What a lovely look at where you are and some of the pathway ahead,
We are both old enough to know, that we will soon be with those that have left to journey on.
We are in a system that is ruled by a ticking clock, all our kin watch with love, and probably smile in their own way at how we struggle to learn our tasks each day.
No matter what you believe on this plain, there in the silence of another domain we will think talk with the truth..
Take care young woodsman and enjoy each moment here,
Yours as always Ian..

Words can build a nation

When one reaches 66 he doesn't make long range plans which include himself. but I Do plan on a great reunion once i reach that other place

author comment
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