by Mary Margaret Park
Accross the USA
explore and toilage
working when he could
Many people he did meet upon fallow roads of grey
and dusty paths on forest floors often paved his way
meeting friends and strangers
barefoot in the sand
the path less traveled was his guide and
his truest friend
From sand to shore to deserts deep
where shadows grew so long
He huddled round a blazing fire to simulate a home
Concerts crazy, rock n band, in bergs and cities too
Where moonshine shone to river form in bluest mournes and Scottish moors
Free spirits never die for they are tethered by the air
Where spontaneous built its shrine as if it were never there
For Jeremy, along with fellow travelers; friends and foes alike, spirits climbed
building portico's of shade and sultry sun.
Shrines of nature to mother earth where 'well met' meant 'well done'.
Mother earth was his guide on higways coast to coast
Like a skate board oubound in the wind - with silent
delight he set the wheels to spin, thus saddled with the grace
of God a grin defied his chin
Like beaches blue or green or pools
the water was his 'shed'.
The winds of change don't tame the waves
they mount in frothy caps oer' head
His journey a voyage
to trade on island winds
North, South, East, and West
Surfboard in hand, he'd roll up all his 'sleeves'
to ride the curls of oceans deep with purest of delight
to watch him skate amoung the wind and waves
was beauties truest sight
Many people he did meet on fellow roads both grey and green.
Yet forests' pungent with wonders' loam most oft paved his way.
Along his path lay ancient roads where many people toiled;
passion that belies the spoken word will always be Kings
Filled to the brim with life's discoveries, when we're all alone
the tender mercy's of wonder and grace remain the deepest
roots of hearth and home.
From sand to shore to deserts deep where shadows grow so long,
he was pleased to have a place to 'pop a squat' amoung friends and rest
his weary bones.
As they huddled round the blazing fire, the road that had grown so very long
T'was around a fire ringed in ancient boulders that rose above the restless unrelenting sand
that he came to know a 'wonkey' 3-stringed guitar, this gift was from a friend.
With trembling hands he lit the strings and frets in vibrant tones
and once again, reunited son and song
He wrote of earth, of stars, and of the moon to shine the silverlight of his
purest emotion's spring
and with his innocence, the night parted, and thus so bowed, in deepest shadowed motion
The mystery of the minstrels song moves between the grains of time
and has no bounds, yet surely carries the truer truth; emotion's sough
On ancient oaths and roads he tread upon the morning dew, as shadows rose
to meet his feet along narrow shafts of light; only to turn their favour into
the dappled shades of dusk
And so it goes
and so it goes
so in God we trust
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, my friend
May you rest in peace.