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