TALKING WITH MY SONS 

Come O’ son to rest thy self
  and sit upon my knee.
Let’s cast ourselves beyond the hills
  and ponder what we see.

Query me neigh the journey’s way
  'bout gathering of the pelf,
But touch my heart with eyes of love
  and tell me of thy self.

Tell me softly thy days of dream
  and wantings of a soul.
When seeds of life are in the field
  and thoughts are wane of old.

Speak to me thy tender thoughts
  and dreams of a loving wife.
Paint my mind a rainbow
  with a vision of thy life.

Converse with me of Heavens high
  and our Mighty God above.
Express to me thy heart hast found
  that life is made of love.

Touch my hand that spirits may join
  and know the boundless ends,
When father and son often speak
  and call each other friends.

Expect me not to cut thy path
  nor direct thee through its furrow.
Fullness of life is felt by he
  who drafts and lays his burrow.

Powerless am I to save from thee
  the pain of many years.
So conduct thy life in such a way
  as to bring me happy tears.

Barnum Taylor © 1999