George Beckman- Books from Graestone

~ Day and night, night and day ~ When you were a babe, I held you when you cried. In time, you began the building of your world. You knew important things, like the bear went over the mountain, and also that the Camp Town racetrack was five miles long. At bedtime, native drums could be heard as I thumped out their rhythm on your back and sang a song that said that down in the jungle you would live in a tent and you wouldn’t pay money, you wouldn’t pay rent, you wouldn’t even know the time. But you wouldn’t mind. Every night you asked for more, and got mad if I shortened the verse. In mittens, I reached out, and you took the proffered hand. In the broad noon of the day, you had built well. Worldly connections. True and false friends. I saw you less, as you ranged further and further, looking for something that you thought was beyond your doorstep. But, you were the first to appear if I was in peril. In this evening, now, you see the faltering. As in a certain prophecy, it seems you have found a purpose. I reach out once more, with weakened hand. Take me to that place where there is no time, but I won’t mind.