When the Sparrow Flies

The green of the Mother's eyes matches a man's earnest heart, much like mine.
I would find myself counting the lines in the pavement, yet on a single number,
My mind would not settle, so I sat in a meadow until twelve years had passed
And the grass was brown and faded.
Here I waited, the old Iron Oaks swaying in a spiced Autumn breeze.
The light hues of the sky and the moon taught me to love snowfall at high noon.
I turned my face to the sky and heeded the sounds of the night,
Knowing it just wouldn't be right to miss the color of falling leaves,
Nor noting the Sparrow's flight through the fragrant pines,
Following a line you couldn't define;
An old friend told me to never close my eyes;
Moments only last so long and memories can only give you so much
And you'll have forgotten to cherish it all until you're big and tall,
And another fall has come and gone, winter come to stay.
Momma always told me to pray and keep my shirt tucked;
She told me to eat and drink only when the devil'd turned to dust,
To find a friend I could trust;
I suppose you could never know what it is to be loved if you'd never felt a mother's touch.
I digress; Back to the man's earnest heart, I'll say this:
You'll never see the sparrow fly if you're too busy watching the ground below;
You'll never hear the Timeless River's flow or see the wild flowers along the banks grow
Nor understand why a certain tree glows with Christmas' glory
If you never remember your story;
When the sparrow flies another memory is come and gone.
It takes a boy's eyes to see the world's wonders and takes a man's heart to value it.

The hum of the earth is the music of  a man's mind, much like mine.
A hum that can be felt in the scent of an early November breeze
The kind that leaves a familiarly pleasant tickle in your nose
And makes you sneeze; the very same hum that teaches the Rose her elegance,
Rising, falling, lilting, like a Bard's voice, telling his story around a fire;
The hum of the earth is the music that wakes the mighty sun
And puts the gentle moon to sleep,
Leads the fireflies in their dance of fire and the wolves in the call of the wild;
This hum is an ode to a time long past, when nostalgia makes a visit and lingers,
As if to be a well loved relative.
"Remember when" is said so often and hardened hearts are softened
Remembering old friends and school yard games;
It becomes a shame when all you can remember are the games
Because names and races, voices and faces have faded,
Slowly blurring out in Father Time's mirror.
It is then, I believe, the message becomes clearer
That moments are here today and gone tomorrow,
And whether or not they are cherished matters not,
For eventually these moments perish and become a dot
On a vast spectrum stretching through time.
It feels as if it's a crime, robbed of the past that seemed better than the future;
Yet, you must remember that the road has just begun when you're only twenty-something,
And your song has barely been sung, And you've barely been around long enough
To see the setting of the sun.
You must remember to keep your eyes on the horizon because nothing else lies behind,
That the past is the past, the present is only a moment
And the future is a blade of grass in a vast meadow,
For even if one blade is ripped away there will be plenty more to take its place.
You must remember to love the life you live and live the life you love
And to thank the stars above for what you have and what's been taken,
That you'll never be forsaken;
It takes a boy's eyes to see the world's wonders, a man's heart to value it,
And the Good Lord's wisdom to understand it.
I saw the sparrow fly and realized its perfectly alright to cry,
Even when you're happy,
And though I can't  with certainty say where my future lies
My feet keep rhythm with the running sun and my heart beats
To the sound of the crow in the skies;
When the Sparrow flies again so will I,
And until then the value of this poem I will not know,
For it follows a line I cannot define.