I wait for you

at the foot of the stairway and

the morning air blooms

with bright smells of green sap

sounds of mowers

scent of sprinkled grass and

on the steps you pause

and smile.

The sunlight behind you

is in your hair.

You are so young.

And so was I.

But that was long ago

before our worlds

swept both of us

away from there,

away from then.

But on that stairway

you are there, so young

and so am I

and still the sunlight

holds us there.

Your smile is


from a thousand distant stars


© Russ Lewis April 25, 1998

Revised April 7, 2005