A Rambler with Roots

 (In memory of my Cousin Brian, Rest in Peace)

In all my memories of you
I cannot remember many where you weren’t on Lock 8 Road
Or in the sticks of that home country you grew up in
The river must surely now be your blood
The rolling hills your bones
The greenery of the trees in the summer and spring your soul
In that place you called home your spirit now freely roams
In all my memories of you
There is that memory deepest of all
You were a rambler with roots
A quiet conundrum
You are alive and will live always as all of the family will
In memories, in thoughts, in the spirit of those that mourn
Upon the wind that sings a sad song in the winter
Rolling across the hilltops of lock eight road Creaking the trees and rustling what leaves there are
We will always know your presence
And hear your voice
So many memories keep your ghost
Of jokes we both shared about dad on his grumpy days
And of stupid things you shouldn’t have done
Like burning gas cans you carried to the creek
You have traded a presence of body
For a presence of spirit
In the legacy of our home and family
You will be carried on and remembered