In Memory of My Neighbor's Son
In the bright, conscious sunrise of the day
a loving voice-the voice of one wide awake-
calls to me from the gate, where near the stake-
the wooden marker divides the land our way.
Here on this spot we always commune, have our say.
Always through friendliness as neighbors we make
country chit-chat, of cows and sheep and the lake
where her young son drowned a year ago May.
There is a headstone in the distant grove
that, grief-defying, on its solemn hill
reveals a song of joy upon its face.
Such a song composed of a mother's love,
a season's test of passing strength and will,
a melody that neither time nor memory can erase.
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