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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 66 Thunder Bird During my days of old. Ones stories to be told. Black Bird, Thundering down many a winding road. Smokin, at 120, above many black tops, being bold. My Birds wings, in eighty eight, I did clip. I could no longer fly her, take another trip, crisscrossing this vast Continent, from shore to shore, north to south, east to west, south to north, never more. Never more to sit in the open cockpit. My wild personality, so well, it did fit. Memories, adventures, journeys, so many I had. All but dust in the winds of times passing, so sad that the beauty of this sixty six no longer fills my inner eye. Contemplating the loss, reminiscing of stories untold, I cry. Just a moment of reflecting, a moment of reminiscing, many thoughts of times in a life that have gone missing. One’s life, empty as it is, must, continue moving on even if it means, leaving behind times long gone. What will never leave the halls of my memories hoard, are the visions of my Beautiful Daughter, being stored. Having left her behind, she hung in this orb, watched me fly over a hundred thousand miles, every mile she did see as they went by, in the rear view mirror, from which she hung, as the 390 GT did hum, my long hair flowing as the wind sung with every strand waving goodbye to what was, hello to what will be. Che sara sara and forty four years later, I wonder if I was truly free. My Thunder Bird convertible has long been gone, I do not fret. My Daughters youth, has, long been gone, I missed, I do regret. At seventy five, my wings, weak, are no longer are able to fly and so, a big silver bird ( july 7th ) will take me into the sky and back into the arms of my history, my Family, my past. I am impatient for all that awaits me, sad / happy, home at last. B. J. “A ” 2 June 11, 2018
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