A window showed his reflection,
As the glass scanned the rim.
He returned the glass to it’s throne,
Excitement washed over him.
So many things had changed.
Since his Grandpap had passed away,
The man that had started the farm,
Wouldn’t recognize the place.
The house and barn were gone.
A summer storm had ravaged the farm.
It took his father and mother,
Though spared his aunt from any harm.
The creek had sprouted a town.
That stretched over the valley’s brim.
A Wal-Mart now sat in the place,
His grandpap used to finish his “whim”.
Lively tales of his ancestors,
Stayed livid in his mind.
Some thing that should be passed on,
For he was so close, out of time.
He eyed the old looking glass,
Sitting on the mantle on it’s throne.
He had never seen the cheese cloth,
Just figured that’s where it belonged.
His own grandson was coming to visit.
His own “apple of the eye.”
A smile crossed the rim of his lips,
As he heard a car turn down the drive.
After the hugging and kissing.
After, “How was your trip?”
After the evening meal was over,
He retired to the den for a sip.
“Grandpop, can I join you?”
With an arm the boy sat down.
“You didn’t go with your parents,
To see the new movie that’s in town?”
“No, I’ve seen it before,
You know the ending before it’s through.
Besides I made the trip from the city,
So I could spend some time with you.”
The boy eyed the glass,
He crossed to the mantle in awe,
Though the redwood tube showed scars of it’s age,
Nowhere, could he see a flaw.
“It belong to your great grandpap,
His father before his time.
It’s been said, to look through the glass,
Your future, you’ll surely find.”
Gingerly, his fingers reached for the glass,
“May I,” he was expecting no.
Of course, piped the old man.
“Go see what your future holds.”
Through the window the boy saw the street lights,
Then he focused for the stars.
From school he knew of Venus,
Mercury and of course there was Mars.
But one stood amongst the many,
It’s brightness seemed to lead him on,
A star that was known by many,
A star of many, many songs.
That star held a valley,
A small creek that twisted through,
A valley amidst a vast grassland,
Suddenly the boy knew.
“Well did it show you anything?
Was the path of your future unfurled?”
The boy turned to his Grandpop,
“Yes, but first, I must build a world.”
The glass was returned to the mantle,
The child to his grandfather’s hold.
The glass had fired his imagination.
The arms shielded the cold.
Tired eyes began to close,
A vision raced by in a flash,
Someday, he’d hold his own grandson,
And tell him of an old looking glass.
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