Someday you’ll be wandering to somewhere
Starting a new page in a story begun with us

Someone will be singing beside you
repeating a chorus written the night before

Somewhere over a rainbow
where your mother is always this young
and beautiful

Conspicuous as a sonnet, I pass through
shadows. I do not know their names and
I decide not to count. There are so many
going up the hill and back, alongside the
vein of meadowsweet and loam. They are
a forest. They are a frost. I am their field.
Each ancestor rising one summer higher
in a line, planted along the rutted road
which is now a footpath for fewer and

It was a Roman lane, their tomb a mound
sprouting yew and laurel, pregnant two
thousand years. They return to recall as do
their descendants, my ancestors. One day,
my daughter will come here and tell this
story to her grandchildren, and they will
sit within my shade and shiver with
mysteries as she, three months old today,
looks up my tall, deciduous body into

Somewhere over a rainbow
where you are is always this young
and beautiful

Often I am singing beside you
writing this song again
as we once did so long ago

© 2005 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAP

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