One day you brought me raindrops in your hand.
'Here are some precious tears for you', you said.
A shadow bird was winging through the sky.
His silhouette escaped my finger tips.
Beside our creek the summer sycamores
Were whispering old folk songs to day's end.
You put your shoulder to the weather, Friend.
You lit the hard times with your empathy.
I looked into your Appalachian eyes
And saw that west was a most wondrous thing.
The distant bird's wings gleamed in failing flight.
The luminosity was purest gold.