I wonder if it was ever real —
These etchings of a time
so far away, conceal
the whirlwind of Youth, the Crime
of this reality has made you and I Elderly.
I can no longer hear his voice —
clearly — it’s muffled.
But oh, I remember yours, I rejoice
in the moments you shuffled
on by in your Daddy’s cowboy boots —
your tufts of golden locks bouncing
and how your smile would bend
your face, and to our utter delight
As those Douglas brown eyes would send
Everyone who Still loves you, smiling at your elation.
A little boy in a 6’7 world –
The Hell I would gladly burn in to take away all your hurts.