Remembrance
© Melanie Pafko, 2006

I remember the flow of the river
and the mountains that raised up high
and the snow that fell in the valley
where the house of my family does lie.

I remember the green of the grass
a color I've since never found.
We would roll in its whiskers in the morning
and rejoice in the feel of the ground

Of my grandfather I do recall
his voice singing in the home.
He would smile as I heeded his beckons
for his song was to me alone.

I remember the surge of the wind
whose power was warmth or chill.
And it brought with it waves of the ocean
that we saw on the grass of the hill.

I was four when my grandfather died.
I was ten when my brother left a man.
And soon I'll be rearing a family
yet not in the bosom of that land.

To that home I return so often
on the winding roads of my mind.
And though I am far from that valley
I hope to return there in time.

I remember the flow of the river
and the mountains that raised up high
and the snow that fell in the valley
where the house of my family does lie.

And my heart dwells forever in that valley
in the house where my family does lie.