Withered, yes, and torn,
weathered by century’s storm.
And though my will so frail
be as a windless sail,
I offer this: another tale,
wisely and won’drously worn.
For pray it rings as the mission bell,
beyond the town and yonder dell,
so that children of ours can always tell
that once a dream did live.
And though this world not long for I,
these wrinkled lips but pure disguise
of a childs soul within.
Soon my bones shall lay to rest,
life’s secret left to confess:
It must end to begin again.
And so here I plant my cedar posts,
sturdy and strong for future hosts,
Hopes in their strength, this simple note:
That I am.
And so thee be.
Yes, love the world most dearly.
And spend prescious moments happily.
But always leave your cedar posts
…….. for your young others to see.
© 2014 John Allen Richter