Treasures

                 Treasures

While I still crawled my Father died

in a distant land of sand.

His Dad, my Poppy, snuggled me

on his lap with adventurous tales.

He read books for kids and men to me

voicing kingdoms, fantastic deeds.

Wove stories in colored tapestries

of metaphor and poem.

When I left our rural town,

Poppy followed me with cards.

Somehow he reached me at earth's ends

wherever my adventures led.

After dives, when I brought up gold,

to be hidden in strong steel vaults,

his richness note of congratulations

was waiting in Jamaica.

A note arrived on Timour

I was sure it came from his hand,

but it was written by my Mom.

I packed the moment that I dropped it.

I sat beside Poppy’s bed

grieving at his fragile figure.

Slowly he opened his eyes and smiled;

his finger beckoned weakly.

I bent to hear his whispery voice:

       “On the stand, my journal,
         at the marker,
         poem just for you.”

When he closed his eyes and drifted off,

I opened to my poem - addressed to me

and dated at the time I’d raised great riches.

        “You dove to deep sunk galleons

         found rubies, diamonds, gold.

         Sought across this earth of ours

         by adventurers, young and old.

         Sweep your life, search ‘cross the cosmos,

         the most precious treasure find

         is the generative give-‘n-take:

         two lifelong loves entwined.

        When adventure loses luster,

         gold and jewels lose their shine,

        bed your roots beside your life love’s  –

        tendrils climbing up together, the trellises of time.

       Springtime fragrant buds and blossoms

        are the children of your vine.

       Yours to nurture through the heat and cold,

        release prepared for any clime.

       Too soon summer yields to autumn frost,

       fruit ripe and ready in its time.

      Children part to find life’s love, adventure;

       renew the treasures of mankind.”

© David W. Oliver 7/10/2010