Crisp autumn raindrops punctuate the cold.
Arthritic stalks snap in the dismal day.
Black branches creak like bones depressed and old,
And matted grass sleeps hopeless, spent, and gray.
Inside a farmhouse sits a lonely man
Rocking fading photos in his lap,
Reliving happy journeys when he can
Thoughts traced and folded like a well-worn map.
A muscle-clad, tanned youth stares out at him,
His first new tractor shining at his side,
And curly-headed girl, wide-eyed and slim,
Just sixty years ago, a doting bride.
His children clutching puppies grin with glee,
His first sight of the mountains, tall and proud
His son catching a pike as big as he...
The pain of moments lost intense and loud.
A tear that matches rain slides down his face
And stains the scenes already damp with tears.
He lights a match with perfect palsied grace
And sets aflame the past of fast-flown years.
Memories mirror only what we lack.
Our Savior gently tells us, ďDonít look back.Ē
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