To Gramps

An is, is there forever where there is no fear, and like a fountain joy is always bubbling up...from underneath. The more is always still to come, not summoned but released from unknown hands; the light suggested only, stretched across the land, cast in its power of gray, pervades its heritage unto the day... unto the day and from the lost upon the lea the cry of home regained, the plow cut deeply in the ground again, the patient men who found their glory in the ones who rode along, who loved and buried them— these, enamored of the earth, would speak forever, may for those few listeners who will not turn away. It is a sacrament, this presence half-remembered on a cloudy day when now comes back with fresh, refreshing grief, a smile returned again. The light, the soft gray light that filters through the grove is harbinger of a reality that makes of time, illusion, scattering its rays across the field of old regret, and leaving only love behind. ~