Not long after my wife and I were married,
We moved to where we live now.
That was fifty-five years ago.
Our house sits beside a deep ravine,
With a stream that runs swift after a rain.
A variety of tall trees are rooted deep
Along its V-shaped walls.
Touch-me-nots and other wildflowers
Grow in abundance as well.
On the other side of the ravine
There once lived an old man.
After our oldest son was born,
The old man became very fond of him
And encouraged frequent visits,
So he asked a neighbor to build a bridge,
Spanning the width of the deep ravine.
Our son crossed it many times to visit.
The old man would often bake sweet potatoes,
Smother them with pure cane sugar,
And drown them with melted creamery butter,
Running down the sides.
The old man and our son would sit
On his front porch, eat baked sweet potatoes,
Talk, and both stretch the truth
Beyond one's imagination.
The love and respect between the two of them
Deepened with each visit.
That was a long time ago, but I remember—
Just like it was yesterday.
And more than half a century later
Our son still remembers the old man
Who lived at the other end of the bridge,
Across the deep ravine.
©️Copyright 2022 By David Lee Thompson
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I'll bet your participant in the sweet potato treat with the old man has found different ways to enjoy them by now. Sweet Potato Casserole is always requested for holidays at our house. Sweet and delicious!
I like that you encouraged a close friendship with your neighbor across the bridge. It is a blessing for young and old to mingle and learn to know and respect each other. Just a bit late with this review, Connie
in this poem with such skill…I can smell those buttery sweet potatoes, and see
your son and the old man enjoying these sacred moments…
So special and sacred, that they have embedded themselves within
your and your sons memories, to be savoured more than half a century later…
A unique and everlasting gift …and immortalised forever now in your words…
Diana..🍃
Your son had all the plastic toys that were available to kids in those days. At least they didn't rust when left outside in all kinds of weather. That was a neat bridge. And sweet potatoes are a very fine staple. My partner, while forced to live in the wilderness, grew fat on sweet potatoes they grew.
Ron