Once was the memory as fresh as frozen dew

I stepped back and then over
the rotten log of truth

Now the days are slated
in the absence of the years

Leave me debating on the worthy of shedding salty tears

The oaken deck and floorboards
of my weathered ship

From the sun and salt
have turned to white at the ending of my trip

I left one foot ashore and the other out at sea

Have thus been devided serving two masters knowing that it can never be

I scowled at by the landward winds

Then turned and prayed to us at sea they'd send

So the back and forth of my life
I sadly never let it end

Now the mast has broken
the repairs will never last

Thus I come limping into port
dropping anchor , and  holding fast

The dingy is the last ride
on the oars that water drips

I'll not be putting out to sea
It's now the time that R.I.P. s

But be not sad the greatest voyage remains

One a joy to make
that eliminates
the pain

One of the few benefits of my  
mature age is the frequent once
upon a time conjured up shared
family memories, mused and
relived with my only brother.

Childish petty differences and
feelings of competition long ago
dead, replaced by the intimacy
of mutual respect and brotherhood.

Colorful recollections of our old
homestead, with all it's good hiding
places, the towering oak in the front
yard with its huge limbs for climbing,
the tire swing on a rope, and the time
I fell out of it and broke my ribs.

The tree house retreat we banged
together with scrap lumber, that
collapsed in the big storm of '57.
The first girls we both kissed and
all the ones we missed.

Our shaded front porch, mom's cold
lemonade on hot summer days, old
dog Dusty, what a good boy he was.
How he would fetch anything we tossed,
for as long as we would throw it.

Whispered bedroom secrets in the still of
night that only we two knew and shared.
Brussels sprouts clandestinely passed to
old Dusty under the dinner table, that mom
never appeared to notice. But the old man
knew, never said a word. As a kid he must
have had a good old dog too, or perhaps he
also hated Brussel sprouts.

Now living 600 miles apart, it is frequent
phone calls at all hours, with new/old
recollection to share, smile and even shed
a tear or two over, things only we are privy
to, for as long as we are both still living with
the ability to recall and remember.