Lost Reflections

Originally written as a classroom assignment, with some slight revisions this one became part of Briny Devlin's C&W repertoire in And Adam was a Gardener.


I drove by the old house.
It was just the other day.
I stopped long and I looked,
But I couldn’t quite say -
‘Cause I couldn’t put words
To the thoughts on my mind.
Something was gone.
I could not seem to find
That home-again feeling
That I once had felt
Seemed like even the air there
Was too cold to melt.
The mem’ries and sorrows
That I had laid bare
Were all gone forever
The house didn’t care.

You know, Ann, I have seen, in my dreams, old broken down shacks where I lived as a child. Those places were not houses. I remember them as cold rooms, with rats being the warmest inhabitants. I veiw in my mind this night one such house that had a room that we were not to enter. Of course, as little children, we did. It was full of old furniture, packed so tightly together that I had to climb over the couches to get to the old dressers. Inside the drawers of the dressing tables was spools of colored thread. I stole those and coveted them to my self. I never did anything with that thread, but I kept it and admired it.

All these years later, som 62 years, I consider that adventure of stealing that thread and wonder at myself. That beautiful thread, in that dismal time of my life, wrapped it's colors around my heart. A glimpse.

Love,

Betty

An enjoyable piece; loved the concept behind this poem; nice job.



-Joe Breunig,

Reaching Towards His Unbounded Glory