66 Thunder Bird
During my days of old.
Ones stories to be told.
Black Bird, Thundering down
many a winding road.
Smokin, at 120, above many
black tops, being bold.
My Birds wings, in eighty
eight, I did clip.
I could no longer fly her,
take another trip,
crisscrossing this vast Continent,
from shore to shore,
north to south, east to west,
south to north, never more.
Never more to sit in the open
cockpit.
My wild personality, so
well, it did fit.
Memories, adventures,
journeys, so many I had.
All but dust in the winds
of times passing, so sad
that the beauty of this
sixty six no longer fills my inner eye.
Contemplating the loss, reminiscing
of stories untold, I cry.
Just a moment of
reflecting, a moment of reminiscing,
many thoughts of times in a
life that have gone missing.
One’s life, empty as it is,
must, continue moving on
even if it means, leaving
behind times long gone.
What will never leave the
halls of my memories hoard,
are the visions of my Beautiful
Daughter, being stored.
Having left her behind, she
hung in this orb, watched me
fly over a hundred thousand
miles, every mile she did see
as they went by, in the
rear view mirror, from which she hung,
as the 390 GT did hum, my
long hair flowing as the wind sung
with evey strand waving goodbye
to what was, hello to what will be.
Che sara sara and forty
four years later, I wonder if I was truly free.
My Thunder Bird convertible
has long been gone, I do not fret.
My Daughters youth, has,
long been gone, I missed, I do regret.
At seventy five, my wings,
weak, are no longer are able to fly
and so, a big silver bird ( july 7th ) will
take me into the sky
and back into the arms of
my history, my Family, my past.
I am impatient for all that
awaits me, sad / happy, home at last.
B. J. “A ” 2
June 11, 2018
