The Old Camp

On the old farm on top of the hill,
overgrown, neglected and abandoned,
nature repossessing what once was her own,
'midst the wildly growing flowers,
where I once loved Edith,
both of us children,
filled with passion and desire,
on some hot, humid night,
with the crickets chirping
and the world all ablaze with beauty,
and light and ecstasy,
heavy breath and heart pounding,
and dreams, God, what dreams,
the locket I gave her jingling, jingling...
does she still have the locket, my picture?
the whispering of the wind,
with her voice - gently, gently,
- nothing ever like this,
nothing ever like this;
and my children:
Dad, Dad, you look lost,
what are you thinking about?
- oh, nothing, nothing,
just someone I knew
long, long ago.

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2005 Alfred Charasz