Sprung From The Old Song

There we were dancing
upstairs by the window wall
Nicole and Casie and I, maybe
when they were four and five, maybe
to Dylan’s Hey Mr. Tambourine Man.

The sweet memory floats
in on the old music like a gift.
Life has moved on complicatedly.
It is no surprise to me that life is still
the ongoing book of hope. ‘Tis still good

to breathe, to see them
now and again and measure
their rewards. And the joys of
the periodic get-togethers with all
of them displaying their individualities.

Stay earthbound, Charles.