Back To Mind

It seems only just yesterday--
The sound of sledge dragging on sand
Would wake me more than
My father's prized rooster's crowing;
The sweet-fresh smell of corn
On the cob cooking on pot of clay
Would make me jump for joy...anytime;
The feel of sun-baked earth on dry season,
And rain-drenched grass on wet...
Under my bare feet;
The morning after a night
Of untold rage and fury of a tempest;
The soothing clean-cold air
On my face, as I whistled running
Down the moon-lit streets of my village...
And--back to mind, more than anything,
"The day I died"--when I left
Home to find and make one
Ten thousand miles away
With my sweet Inamorata, my wife.