Last night I was a child again,
in the meadow where I used to play.
And on the porch, in our old swing,
I watched Granny pray.
Her head was bent, hands clasped tight,
lips moving silently in prayer.
I was confused and a little scared,
because I didnít know why I was there.
Then I saw the dusty barn,
now old and leaning towards the ground.
Where once fine horses stood,
one white the other a chestnut brown.
Then my eyes filled with tears,
because beneath the willow tree,
I saw myself playing with homemade dolls,
my Mom had made for me.
Rusted buckets stood by the well,
waiting to be filled with water oh so cold.
And in the garden corn still stood,
with leaves all dried and colored gold.
The fence was rotted, the boards were loose
and lying on the ground.
In the yard all I could see was weeds,
when my eyes looked around.
In the meadow where I stood, the only thing
I saw that had stayed the same,
Was the river where I once swam
and it seemed to call out my name.
I walked to itís edge and my reflection wasnít
as a child, the face I saw was old.
But memories came back of fish we caught,
in water that ran so cold.
Then I saw the roses, wild and tangled
from years without proper care.
Thatís when it came to me it was a dream,
I wasnít really there!
I walked toward the house,
no windows with curtains did I see.
Only holes where I once saw glass,
with light beckoning warmly out to me.
The door still hung by one hinge but
I heard laughter beyond its frame.
The odor of baking bread and homemade pie,
inside still smelled the same.
My feet stepped on the boards of the porch
and groaned beneath my weight.
Off to the side I saw a table,
that still held my faded old school slate.
The springhouse still stood, built solidly
with rock we carried from the creek.
I wished those days had never passed
and with my Granny I could speak.
Last night was a phantom time of life
I once had with ones I still miss and love.
The dream was to let me just once more,
relive a time sent from God above
Just some of the things in my life
that meant the most to me.
He let me see my childhood
and it made me feel so free.
Before the dream was gone, I picked
some flowers from the old yard.
Knowing I would soon wake and face
my real life, for me was very hard.
But all dreams pass and we awake
to our life no matter how it is.
For the present keeps us captive
but the past is always His.
© Norma Marek ~ 20 April 2002
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