The November Curvy Ramble
The Curvey November Ramble Written by David Steven Simon The curvy November ramble With its fallen infantry of leaves Lit by the epitaph of the sun Does not lead me forward. Every step, Orchestrated by the final gasp of A snapping twig, Escorts me back... To my mom, Waltzing with her carpet sweeper partner As Sinatra Sang You Make Me Feel So Young From the cathedral radio of her Bobby Soxer heart While sadness coursed through her veins Like a prairie wildfire. To my dad, Slapped silly by Skin Bracer And the slow death hours of a Salesman Sneaking Chuckles Behind the citadel of an Early evening newspaper As he sank into the mother arms of his chair As the cushion Cradled his head Which returned him To the sanctuary of quiet shadows when his heart felt precious Befriended And adored. The visitations that come to me As I wade through this dignified ghost filled battlefield Of old New York With its Painter's pall...