blacksmith rendezvous

We rendezvoused at two o’clock

The same place one month later.

Three hours I drove

to meet the smith,

To exchange tales and patter.

“And here’s a poem I wrote for you!

I probably will write more.”

He beamed, ‘neath

bushy gray mustache,

“No one’s done this before.”

His straw hat lay beside his hand;

his fingers inched beneath it.

Then he exposed a black iron cross

and anxious to bequeath it,

“I made this cross for you today.”

“I love it; I’m delighted.”

And happily we exchanged smiles

Admired our gifts, excited.

We drove to see the scrap iron yard.

“For some this place is tragic.

But me, I love to climb the heap,

Transform this rust to magic.”

 

 

Gail (Aug.’10) remembers that day, “A delightfully sweet appreciation for a local Up North guy that summer. Nothing came of that interlude. Renny had a girlfriend named Penny!”

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