Buffalo Spring

Off in the distance was Buffalo Spring,
Worn and weathered.
Alone, inside the talkative forest,
Bent limbs, lost digits,
Shades half drawn, door closed.
Sauntering on the leafy path,
Drawn into oneself, Buffalo Spring.
Once young and vibrant,
Now stands aged and solitary.
Memories sprout of Bella,
the spunky Italian chorus girl.
Like mismatched shoes,
She took haven, in Buffalo Spring.
There she danced and sang,
Relinquishing life far away.
Back into the moment,
Sad trickles fall from Buffalo Spring.
Eyes close, body kneels to earth.
I follow, wrap my innocent arms,
Around his soft shoulders,
Silence is our talk.
This is all I can do,
For my Grandfather.