The sun rose slowly o'er the hill. My cold, dark night with light did fill. Alone did stand a single pine, Where once you sang me songs of thine. They strengthened me each lonely day, And in my dreams at night did play. They chased away my grief and strife; I focused on my happy life. Through winter nights beside the fire Without a child to teach, inspire; My spirits down, consumed by age, Forced withered hands to clench in rage. The creases in my skin revealed This once young dreamer's fate was sealed. And yet, you sang and took my hand And forced my bony legs to stand Until that fateful winter day When, quietly, I passed away, I'd walk with you, my hand in thine, Upon the hill which stood the pine.
Randal A. Burd, Jr. is an educator, freelance editor, writer, and poet. His poetry has most recently been featured by Halftime Magazine, The Society of Classical Poets, Rue Scribe, and Ancient Paths Literary Magazine. He received his Master's Degree in English Curriculum & Instruction from the University of Missouri. He currently works on the site of a residential treatment facility for juveniles in rural Missouri. He lives in southeast Missouri with his wife and two children.