Sometimes I dream of whistles blowing
while the warden's calling out my name,
And I wonder if that thunder far
will be bringing in the summer rain.
I was told that she had been moved on
from a long forgotten time and place;
Still can't recall the sound of her name
but I remember her smiling face.
Clouds of time covered the mountain tops
and hid the shadows from days before;
Was then I watched the last ascension
through the window of my cabin door.
This all came from the heart winter,
not the last, but from one years ago;
When the echoes came down from the hills,
carried on wings of an injured crow.
I never realized time's passing
or the penalties that were applied;
Saw the crowds gather on hilltops high
to wait for the flooding to subside.
There were boats leaving the harbor town,
trying to catch the prevailing winds;
The cargo was of forgotten souls
whom were still to pay for all their sins.
The wooden shutters on window frames
were shut tight against the coming storm;
Across the town fires were burning bright
in the hopes that all would be kept warm.
There were searchers heading out that night,
moving down the roads that had been signed;
They were told there could be survivors
and not one was to be left behind.
Now the silence was but deafening,
for the whistles had long been shut down;
There were footprints on the distant sands
though they said she never would be found.
The warden stopped just outside my door,
holding candles that were burning bright;
Told me that upon the rising sun
I would find that everything's alright.
Copyright © Daniel Larson | Year Posted 2016