I sat here, thinking of you, and
rocking in the same old way I'd always seen you do.
Watching those glassy droplets has always been, for me,
so telling- they always come in abundance when time is solemn.
You said a raven came the day that Grandpa left...and you knew.
For me, it was the thick-blanket sheets of snow the world needed-that
pure whiteness- because you were gone.
You and I, we knew the earth-and-we were somehow in tune- could hear
the whispers many overlooked...God leaving little presents for us with the trees and birds...
And who am I to share it all with now?
When sights and signs take over reason and rule...to understand what we knew... I may never find another, no , most likely not.
Rocking in that rhythm maybe you could have kept, I look out at places maybe you have tread.
Hoping maybe, to catch a glimpse somehow of you instead.
Nothing, ever is the same I'm learning.
But if I could ask you just one more thing...
I'd ask if you could still hear the ravens sing.
-Elena McCoy ( original writing)