Yesteryears
by Belinda van Rensburg
It is late - the world's abed,
Only her window's glowing red;
She sits and stares into the flames,
Recalling long lost friends' names.
Her hands are gnarled, hair silver gray;
Folks think she has not much to say -
They know not of her dreams and fears;
Her memories of yesteryears.
Locked deep down within her heart
Are those she has loved in the past;
Dearest ones long dead and gone -
Things that they have said and done.
Her fingers stroke her paisley wrap
Covering her legs and lap
As she travels back in time
To a day of bright sunshine.
It is the twentieth of May
And she is eight years old today;
Her family and friends have come
To celebrate and have some fun.
She's wearing her new sailor dress,
Touching gifts; trying to guess
What treasures could be hid inside;
Her eyes are bright, her smile is wide.
Her great-aunt Lena's gift could be
A book about pirates at sea;
From Uncle Sam a round beach ball;
From Mom and Dad a puppy small.
A Shirley Temple doll she'd like
As a gift from uncle Mike,
But what she would like most of all
Is a pony in a stall.
The sunshine fades; it's a cold morn -
In the distance brews a storm;
A war is being waged out there
And suffering is everywhere.
The sun's come out; love's in the air -
She's twenty and without a care;
Tomorrow is her wedding day;
'I do' is what they both will say.
In her arms her pride and joy
And she dangles him a toy.
Dimpled cheeks; cherubic face
Surrounded by a cap of lace.
One memory fades; another comes -
One by one she thinks and longs
For her sweetheart, strong and tall,
And her loved ones, gone now - all!
The fire in the grate burns low
And she knows it's time to go
To a place better than here,
Void of loneliness and fear.
Her hands stop moving on her lap;
She seems at peace; taking a nap,
But if the truth were to be told:
She's young again; no longer old.
© 2012
by Belinda van Rensburg
It is late - the world's abed,
Only her window's glowing red;
She sits and stares into the flames,
Recalling long lost friends' names.
Her hands are gnarled, hair silver gray;
Folks think she has not much to say -
They know not of her dreams and fears;
Her memories of yesteryears.
Locked deep down within her heart
Are those she has loved in the past;
Dearest ones long dead and gone -
Things that they have said and done.
Her fingers stroke her paisley wrap
Covering her legs and lap
As she travels back in time
To a day of bright sunshine.
It is the twentieth of May
And she is eight years old today;
Her family and friends have come
To celebrate and have some fun.
She's wearing her new sailor dress,
Touching gifts; trying to guess
What treasures could be hid inside;
Her eyes are bright, her smile is wide.
Her great-aunt Lena's gift could be
A book about pirates at sea;
From Uncle Sam a round beach ball;
From Mom and Dad a puppy small.
A Shirley Temple doll she'd like
As a gift from uncle Mike,
But what she would like most of all
Is a pony in a stall.
The sunshine fades; it's a cold morn -
In the distance brews a storm;
A war is being waged out there
And suffering is everywhere.
The sun's come out; love's in the air -
She's twenty and without a care;
Tomorrow is her wedding day;
'I do' is what they both will say.
In her arms her pride and joy
And she dangles him a toy.
Dimpled cheeks; cherubic face
Surrounded by a cap of lace.
One memory fades; another comes -
One by one she thinks and longs
For her sweetheart, strong and tall,
And her loved ones, gone now - all!
The fire in the grate burns low
And she knows it's time to go
To a place better than here,
Void of loneliness and fear.
Her hands stop moving on her lap;
She seems at peace; taking a nap,
But if the truth were to be told:
She's young again; no longer old.
© 2012
Last edited:
