One Last Dream
By Mad Jack
The old man sat down, starting to tireOn a hoary old stone next to the byreThoughts drifted through of his long ago pledgeAs his old leather boot toed some sedgeAt his side his friend, an aging steedWho nudged his sleeve of slightly frayed tweedThe wind blew a little, stirred his wispy white hairA smile twitched his lip, fleeting and rareIt had been just a day since he laid her to restNow he could just dream of her life, her zestThe smile traced in as he remembered the placeWhere he saw through the veil, her angelic faceThat wonderful day he saw their first childWhen it laid next to her breast, through her pain she smiledThe years swept by, fast and fleetTurned glorious by the woman who made him completeThe tear down his cheek burned with fireNo longer would he feel her touch, her desireHis sixty-five years with her passed in one leapThen he closed his eyes forever in sleep'Byre' is an old North English word for Barn. Written November 28th, 2001 © on Nov 28 2001 05:18 AM PST 0 • 1
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"The old man sat down, starting to tireOn a hoary old stone next to the byreThoughts drifted through of his long ago pledgeAs his old leather boot toed some sedgeAt his side his friend, an aging steedWho nudged his sleeve of slightly frayed tweedThe wind blew a little, stirred his wispy white hairA smile twitched his lip, fleeting and rareIt had been just a day since he laid her to restNow he could just dream of her life, her zestThe smile traced in as he remembered the placeWhere he saw through the veil, her angelic faceThat wonderful day he saw their first childWhen it laid next to her breast, through her pain she smiledThe years swept by, fast and fleetTurned glorious by the woman who made him completeThe tear down his cheek burned with fireNo longer would he feel her touch, her desireHis sixty-five years with her passed in one leapThen he closed his eyes forever in sleep'Byre' is an old North English word for Barn...."