The Ranch

where the willow and cottonwood grew.

Where you and i strolled

happily across the meadows,

such a long, long time ago.

In my memory forever lives a picture,

indelibly etched, clear and clean,

of a ranch rimmed with cedars,

like a crown of peace serene.

Where the swallows dipped and darted,

in their graceful sweeping flight.

The glorious moonbeams drenched

the rippling grain fields keen,

and the twinkling stars flashed

like myriad jewels in the night.

I often dream that i am returning

to the ranch i love so well,

nestled cozily in the mouth our own canyon,

it held a special spell.

In memory, i gaze across the valley,

to the far off mountain range,

the swallows, the grain, the willows,

in fond memory are deeply locked

there with you beside me.

Is part of us still remaining,

in that glorious meadow,

where i strolled alone with you,

in life's springtime of early morning dew?

Now, life's evening shadows sway back

to that gray, dead meadow

or the ranch we loved so dear,

as i lay here and dream,

of returning there

someday with you.

My Blog~Mystical Poetry, Prose, and Political Viewpoints