Follow me into the sunset, he said, and let go of my hand.
At the edge of life he whispered goodbyes I didn't understand.
I didn't spend enough time with my grandfather and now he's gone.
I laughed when he said there was gold on his farm.
Now I wish that I had pretended to believe him.
I remember hating to spend even a couple of weeks on his farm
summers when I was a kid.
I was a troublemaker but he never got mad no matter what I did.
The sun would hang low and hot on a humid August afternoon:
Red the color of blood hovered over the fields in a wide circle.
Someday the circle will be complete and my last day will dawn.
On that day I pray for the power and grace you held till the end.
And I'll follow you into the sunset, my friend.
5.30.1996
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