Watching the Child Parade
Shrub leaves lie curled in the dormant yard;
Trees shiver in their nakedness
As a crisp autumn wind exhales
Into the barren night sky.
On the corner of Walnut and Maple,
The Old Crowder House fights for breath--
Creaking and moaning with age and neglect;
Too decrepit to shelter life beyond a few strays.
There in the cupola she sits
In the long forgotten platform rocker,
Watching the child parade with eager longing
As they wander from house to house.
Will one look up to give her a smile?
Will they even notice her there in her chair
Rocking, as she has done for a lifetime or two
Mourning the loss of her own?
She hears a child's cry echo through the night
And notices a boy clinging to his mother.
Does he see me? Will I finally be released?
Alas, it's just the cats and startled birds.
And so she sits. Waiting and Rocking;
Rocking and Waiting for that magic night,
When the hallow spirits sing and dance
Under a barren sky as the cool winds exhale,
And the marchers of the child parade
Finally, look up and notice the wraith
Longing for a child's smile,
As they pass on their way to the next treat.
Jsc
October 17, 2004
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