© Bruce Goodman 1 December 2014
I remember those times now, John.
I remember the times we had together.
We were children then; then
You went on your way and
I on mine. I remember all,
And cannot help but think that
We are children still.
It is almost spring now, John,
And willows have just shot
Their green over the gates and water.
I wrote home and asked if the bulbs
We planted on the bank were flowering.
Today I got a note saying they were dead.
I do not know if you are dead too,
I do not know and never shall.
Even so I mourn your passing now.
The land is lonely on the farm now, John.
No doubt you know the land is lonely on the farm.