2015 11 06
Come play with me on Wartha River shore.
Leave your home, and forget your tiring chore.
Now hold my hand and run with me on field
where flowers bloom, and to my sweet kiss yield.
Each day we play on Wartha River shore.
From house of gloom step through old creaking door
and play with me where blows soft summer breeze
to wander singing with sweet honey bees.
We lie and dream on Wartha River shore.
We devour apples, toss away brown core,
then share folk tales we heard our mothers tell
while watching butterflies by water well.
I call your name on Wartha River shore.
I could not love our blooming heaven more.
We stand beneath our secret trusting tree,
and pledge our love will always blossom free.
My farm house burns on Wartha River shore.
We flee away beyond old broken door
and wander lost on road of bitter tears.
We hide in shadows from our aching fears.
I long for home on Wartha River shore.
I weep that I will never see you more.
We sail wood ship across wide swirling sea,
escaping hell to land of Liberty.
I left my heart on Wartha River shore.
On wild Manhattan streets we hear folklore
of refugees from lush lands burned by war,
then ride wagon to Lake Michigan shore.
I often dream of Wartha River shore
while watching children play from farm-house door
in land of Minnesota where I dwell,
and wonder if you are alive and well.
I stand alone on Lake Wakanda shore
and watch black crows on heart-aching wind soar,
and if I close my eyes in summer sun
I almost see your smiling eyes again.