Memories In The Old Brain Poem by Ronald Shields

-the smell of water
a scent hanging in the air
a trail through parched, barren land
now greened by rain
in a time of plenty.

the taste of marrow
fresh from the cracked bone,
touched by a fire
that lights the way
to a time of plenty

the sight of a day
over savanna grass,
sight without mystery
without awe
or the art to feel the dawn
and see the light with a new eye
in a time of plenty

the sound of a wild call,
a beast
stirring the heart,
a heart yet to be gripped
by the savage's siren call
to a time of plenty.

Memories deep in my core
of scent, taste, sight, sound
water, fire, light, howl
-memories from a time undefined
-before memory shaped
light and dark into day and night
-before memory became
slave and master of time.

I am a child of these memories,
before and after.

Dancing to the rhythm of time

I am old
in a time of plenty.