“What’s that mountain called?” they ask
As it stands stark against the sky.
Glancing towards the smaller peak,
“It’s called Bluff Mountain,” I reply.
As larger ridges arrest their gaze,
Bluff Mountain retains my own.
A precious memory captures my heart,
When Daddy took me there alone.
Then I was just a little girl
Traipsing along behind my Dad.
He stood there on that vacant lot
Looking bleak and a little sad.
“This is the spot where I was born;
Our cabin stood right here.”
Nothing was there to back his claim;
It had faded away with the years.
“This is the place where we would hide –
Me and Roy could fit in there.”
He held my had as I Crawled up
To the overhang they had shared.
“Years ago, hon, we lived right here;
Back when I was just a boy.
We climbed these rocks and ran this ridge,
Just me and your Uncle Roy.”
As the memory slowly fades away,
I can’t help but shed a tear.
Back in 1916 twins were born
On that Bluff you can see from here.
Copyright © 2000 by moleta ruth mccarter. All rights reserved.
