A glimpse through an open window,
Of an old man, half blind and hunched,
Standing while laying a hand on a stool, soliloquizing:
It was real, it was real!
Of the morning, the afternoon,
Of the thunder, the rain, the sea,
Of the mountain, the woods,
Of the bobolink, the bumble bee,
Of the squirrel, the butterfly,
Of the daisy, the daffodil,
Of the apple, the papaya,
Of the carrot, the corn, the grill,
Songs we sang together all year long.
No, it's not real, it's not real!
It's only in a fairy tale book
That so pretty a princess falls in love with so pale a pauper.
But it was real, It was real!
As evidenced by the footprints on the prairie we promenaded in Kentucky,
As evidenced by the buoyant notes that sailed over waves across the Atlantic Ocean,
As evidenced by the gentle kiss that reddened her own cheeks, which were envied by the glowing California Sun,
As evidenced by the soft and tender look in her eyes in the moonlight in Iowa.
As witnessed by the dappled deer that dallied in the green pasture,
As witnessed by the sprouting seeds that supped raindrops in spring,
As witnessed by the redwood trees whose leaves danced in the summer breeze,
As witnessed by the warblers flying over the golden field in the fall.
Was it real, or was it not real?
I found myself pondering while wandering,
Not knowing where I was going.
From my lips silent and shivering:
Farewell, my love, my honey!
Adieu, adieu, my dear, my sweetie!
Now it has been 30 years.
