Simple Sunday-The Sign
Walking the trail of country breeze
A brisk, sun-tinged Spring day
I spied a sign deep in the trees
what it read I could not say
I crept closer, not too far away
Shooing shines while on I tread
the ancient obelisk appeared a fray
Believe John's numbers, that were said.
Once rails and ties and spikes and trains
this pathway tells many a story
in the clear days or in the rains
here the iron horse sped in glory
claiming her place in legend-filled history
I think about where these grounds had lead
and the writing, sign birthed in quarry
Believe John's numbers, that were said.
The writing half washed away I find
these numbers, I muse, of a forgotten mile
But also of another ancient way to mind
a way and the way, a light-bulb smile
In farm-field stillness I pause awhile
A sign links the sign in those digits I read
these symbols they swirl and bequile
Believe John's numbers, that were said.
In awe of this day, of things long ago
of machine and man and life of bread
The three, one, six has much to show
Believe John's numbers, that were said.
CCB
4/17/2015
A Ballade