Tommy Little



(For Pat Jordan)

I'll leave the door ajar
when I go, and a light on
just in case you feel the grace
to rise and step lightly down
the hall and out into the barefoot days
of young pictures on the wall.

Out into the black and white
of early times, bright simple rhymes
cut and dried, and sorrow
just a distant star.
I'll leave the door ajar.

And you may wander through
the glades of spring
and smell some memory
or fragrance you recall
when life was but a dance
and time some fleeting chance
to bloom and sing.
Oh, such a wondrous thing.

And you made it so,
all the more, and still
there's not a thrill of bird
nor hum of bee that escapes
significance or worth,
nor any wonder in earth or sky.
All are treasures in your eye.

They're all waiting now,
beyond the night in some bright morn
where all things born rejoice
to hear your voice again
as you tiptoe down the aisle
of shadowed dream
and clutch that falling star.

I'll leave the door ajar.