The
Front Lawn of Tara
Deborah
Rey
Nothing
but tears today.
Not self-pity tears,
not tears of pain
just lonely tears,
and tears of loss.
Nothing
but tears today.
Tears of longing for Tara's
old, old oak trees and
green fields of peace,
and Mr Wilkes, my Ashley.
Today
is too late for
tears about the past.
I must go back home,
go back to Tara and think
about it tomorrow.
Then,
on the day tomorrow
is, I will take some
red, red Georgia earth
and raise my fist,
and swear to G-d.
I'll
turn tomorrow into
today and gently whisper,
"Come, my dearest Ashley,
come, let's go, go to our
Tara of perfection,
our utopia of dreams.
Sit
with me and mint julep
sipping, watch our
families play as if they
had always been together,
were always one."
"Rest
your soul, Miss Mellie,"
you will say and
dry my tears, and dance
with me. There, on the
front lawn of our Tara.
***
Deborah
Rey has, ever since she was a little girl, worked as a broadcaster,
entertainer, scriptwriter, translator, editor, and actress in
the Netherlands, Canada, and the USA. She is married, has one
daughter, one grandson and lives at the French Atlantic coast,
with her husband, the Dingo-Dog and six cats. Her work is published
in 'Voices from the Web' 2005 and 2006 (Anthology UKAuthors),
and on-line at The Blue House, SubtleTea, and Flutter.
©
Deborah Rey