Behind the Grindstone: Faded Ink

At the bottom of the stack
Far away and to the back
Of the old dresser drawer
A poem written long before

Yellowed now is the page
Curled and wrinkled, torn with age
Faded ink yet can be read
Verses of a love now dead

Memories now flood his mind
With this wrinkled yellowed find
Of the place and of the time
Words were written down in rhyme

Rhyming words from a broken heart
Life and love now torn apart
Smudges where the teardrops fell
At the tolling of the bell

Into the depths it seemd to sink
This yellowed paper and faded ink
Like dust blowing on the prairie winds
The last verse of the poem ends

No verse to say that life goes on
Each day bringing a brand new dawn
And memories of the pain and tears
Fade somewhat throughout the years

Like the falling of a gentle rain
Time erases hurt and pain
The words now written into rhyme
Have turned from heartbreak over time

For roses bloom out of the pain
Watered by the teardrop rain
And rhymes bloom from there as well
Words replace where teardrops fell

And he has to shake his head
At what the verses written said
Because God is good, God is great
Giving back what the locust ate

So he puts the paper back in the drawer
Where it was once before
Verses that no longer apply
As he wipes a teardrop from his eye

At least, that’s the view here from behind the grindstone.