An Old Imagination

Age old oaks have found their home

In the forest of her mind

Crawling spiders, webs untorn

Protect idea-kind

Bird’s soft voices through the trees

The willows sway, yet still

This world, once warm and comforting

Now contains a chill

The cold of Death that ever knocks

On the forest of her heart

That begs “forget the growing moss,

And ferns when you depart!”

But they skitter and they scat

They cry when Death’s voice rolls

Why should she risk everything that

Is alive within her soul?

This haven of dreams, ideas, flow

With the creek that travels by

The only place she wants to go

Is the forest of her mind

But age, it takes its toll on one

Who imagines like a child

Who's growing old, and never young

Though her dreams be wild

She’ll always dream of forests

And ever dream anew

Darling child, grandma’s leaving

But she’ll always dream of you