Selection 10 of
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Connection
by John Kent
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From the field a whippoorwill calls, the moonbeams dart; the wind lovingly carries the night sounds. The years peel back to the days I held my mother's hand; her hair soft in the moonlight, her eyes sparkling, her voice vibrant telling me of life and dreams. I was seven, she was wise, warm and wonderful. I loved her to the fullest extent of my being. The years have sailed with the wind of night. I've heard her calling, felt her hand upon my cheek, the love in her heart; but never again, her hair, soft in the moonlight or the sparkle in her eyes, or the smile on her face. Often I have asked God why did you take her, when I was ten? |
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