Bench of Generations
12-22-20
It was funny how often her mother came around back then
Dress deliberately just above the knee, like motioning to men
Now and then we think of her, it’s as if she is still here
I still believe the way she dressed, changed what these women wear
If you’d have seen her, in the summer, in the warm night air
What you would give, the price you’d pay, to touch her blonde hair
But it’s not like that, you handle the petals softly, a delicate flower
Tempt to speak with her, a warm body, like climbing a rock tower
With the weight on her shoulders, yet no care in the world
Once in a while, not very often, a glance our way would hurl
And think your stature better, higher than men of great fame
Then suddenly realize what you thought left, nothing remain
You get to thinking about those moments so long ago
We talk about her so much, like she never left, though faux
The empty house, it still has that certain, dignified look
Keeping its pride, change is something, chosen, forsook
McGrady, now that was the one who decided enough is enough
If you knew why he said that, only a stranger would call his bluff
He made of fool of himself, but nobody could blame him
I actually admire the man, for indeed he cast caution to the wind
We all thought, “what is she looking for”, her love pining away
So many tried to catch her attention, now that time is gone, such a waste
Yet you knew something could change, factually it could, it would
Believe me when I tell you it’s not for everyone, as if it should
That daughter of hers, she’ll come around every now and then
To float on a cloud, pure as can be, brought in by the western wind
When you see her coming, and then stare at her going
Like the hot taste of summer, no relief comes in blowing
I’m thinking now, as I sit, and gaze out the second-floor window
Don’t think I saw them together much, since she became the widow
Haven, built like a wall, steadied, with eyes of steel blue
She wouldn’t lie to me, can’t see why her words would be untrue
Rumors come easy around here, into our world they fly
Some you might consider, the others, best off to let them go by
The ground can be shaken, and the ground can be so cold
I’m telling you, only a fool would ponder all that was told
The town, seems as though I keep leaving that part out
Not meant on purpose, it’s got to say it’s peace, leave no doubt
I say it’s a town, but it’s nothing like that as before
It’s doing all it can before drifting into lost folklore
Back when Paul Denion ruled the part that now grows green grass
I laugh a bit now thinking what he’d think, if walking he’d pass
The sound of the wheels, the grinding of the chaff filled wheat
The sound of forty minus one, his own back he would beat
And if you look real careful, and hold your eye still
There is the tree left standing, last thoughts of Grady Will
When I was a kid, all day and all night we would play and hide
But to this day, I’ve never once dared the fence to go the other side
The wealthiest man, how he looked as his stride called aloud
To look at him, pretending not to want it, that man so proud
They say he had a daughter, but they musta came out of town
Funniest thing happened to him, been years since he’d been around
The stories are told over, whispered, with amber glasses in hand
Can’t get the thought together, he was last in family to stand
It’s true his business, it was here then shut down quick
Once the train left with its burning coal, ticket to his last trip
Guessing his age before he’d be gone was one easy task to fill
The lines on his face were deep, hiding the last testament, his last will
Since we hardly ever saw his wife, come to think some never did
You wonder what happened to her, were did she go and hid?
The woman with the daughter, wasn’t but a few months later
She stopped coming around here, for her presence we’d cater
It was easy to tell in a town like this, once things got lonely
But it seems too peculiar, so apparent she wasn’t the only
I mentioned the girl, well, we call her the daughter of pain
Many boys rambled in dirt, in barns, in cold, in driving rain
That’s neither here nor there, that’s not why I brought her up
It’s just so strange, everything she does, impulsive and abrupt
That’s not all that runs through the mind on quieter days
The money she has, the house to buy, she has familiar ways
The clothes she wears, need I mention anything about stopping a clock?
Nobody can say how she got here, back then the train ran, until this stop
Well, I can go on and on, I can tell you that and much more
Things that I think could grab your attention, or leave you bored
This bench has eyes, it has seen so many wondrous things
I swear it can talk; I swear at times, it melodically softly sings
And what it reveals and what would make it move, all on its own
Probably would be the same as me, a woman, a daughter, a man, a home
But that it can’t do, the most motion it has is gathering dust
Letting the rain cover it over, yes covered to a flaking rust
So, I’m left to make things up in my mind for stories to tell
I’m sure they’re all real, from the rooftops obligingly to yell
But now since it’s dusk, not much later dark will visit,
And my step and my head will ask, “was this real, well is it”?
