Songs Poem by Joe Oppenheimer

Songs



I asked my mother
to sing her song
by a campfire
when I was young.

No. No, no, no, no.
She cried.
Not to you, my son,
Not tonight, by the fire
in the moonlight.

Before sleeping,
I watched the tops of trees
tickling stars so high
wondering why
I heard no song that night.

Many years later,
she was frail and old.
Not at a fire but in a bed,
ill and cold.
I asked, “Why was there never
a time, to sing
your own song? ”

She returned,
It had been long
but there was no wrong
in only singing others’ songs.

Though I could not see
the reason before she died,
I still try.

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