(030) Butterfield Brite Poem by Melvina Germain

Trudging wearily many dark miles ahead.
In the distance, a light shone bright,
from an old rustic cabin
standing alone in the dim lit night.

Energetic vibes increased as
my legs picked up the pace.
A light at the end of the tunnel
to be my saving grace.

Deep within my soul, a sealed
envelope I’ll hold.
Till the time is right
to reveal and be told.

Loud voices reigned, through an
old window marred with mud stain.
while sitting round an old oak table
engaged in conversation recapping
events of the past- realization-
I’am home, I’am home- at last.

Standing quietly on that old rugged
porch, listening contently,
feeling warm and fearless.
all of a sudden…… I heard this…..

What are you doing here, you nasty
old critter, standing, lurking like a
peeping tom, answer me - you-
who do you think you are. Raise
your hands and step inside.

I did just as the old man ordered,
stepped inside. Three old men sat
wearing many a different hyde.
Piercing eyes found deep penetration.
Still, I felt no fear, for certain,
they will welcome me here.

A chair hit me in the back of my legs,
down I fell to sit.
Laughter erupted all around,
A room filled with warmth and wit.

They sat me down, gave me tea
and bread, I grinned, chuckled
and laughed a lot. A family
reunion for years twas sought
into dawn we sat and talked.

The men knew their time here was short,
for their land was repossessed of sorts.
I held the key deep within my soul,
soon to release their lands hold.

To them I spoke of fraudulent deeds,
gave them all they would need,
to release the land of which was truly
theirs, held against them for many years.

Weeks come and weeks go,
ground soon to be without snow.
I will leave in the middle of the night,
knowing all is well in Butterfield brite.

Written: March 21/2007