Steve’s Poem

Baby Steve riding a tractor.
Baby Steve riding a tractor.

In December of 2002 my brother gave me a poem for Christmas. He wrote it in black ink on a transparent paper and framed it. Over the last 10 years it’s been slowly fading, even though I keep it away from sunlight. It’s a beautiful poem and deserves to be preserved and shared. Every time I read it I find new meaning, and it continues to be pertinent even today in an entirely new way. Thank you Steve.

I love you still, brother.
I love you still, brother.

A Crumbling Tower Clung To An Ancient Cliff

A crumbling tower clung to an ancient cliff
Whose feet plunged to the depths of the ocean
Where fish glowed and the water was syrupy cold.

One day, a piece of timber came to bob alongside the cliff.
Captain set the ship to sail itself and leaped at the rocky face.
As luck would have it, there were footholds and hand holds
That Captain used to scale the rocky wall.

Captain reached the cracked and precarious tower
And found a tunnelish opening from which
Poured a soft purple smell. And Captain
Entered the tunnel and was surrounded by
A beautifully perfumed haze. Captain continued.

Up, up a memory of a staircase, through
The purple fog. But Captain’s resolve hardened
And the scent and fog became just a background.
Captain saw only the stairs straight ahead
And the chamber at the top of the sloping spiral.
Captain reached the roofless room and found a globe of Earth.

The globe spun west and much too fast.
The oceans bubbled and glaciers melted.
The forests scorched and green sizzled to ash.
Captain knew something was wrong and laid
Soft careful hands upon the sad globe to stay its faulty turn.
Captain took a deep breath and blew so softly
As she removed her hands, and the globe began to spin east.

The tower bent its head to the ground,
With enormous snapping and creaking of
A spine that had not flexed for centuries,
And set Captain down upon the dewy lawn.
From above, a spiraling storm took shape
And came down on the tower, no longer crumbling
Or decrepit, but strong. Captain ran and
Flung herself off the cliff, looking up at the sky and whirling storm.

As she fell, the tower did battle with the storm
And met bolts of fire with a rocky arm
And what do you know but the storm faded,
Cowered from the strength of the tower,
Cradle of the righted globe. And after the battle was won
The tower stood forever as strong and when Captain left it.
And she fell and fell, and closed her eyes
Just to open them again at dawn of a new day as
She heard the pitter patter of the last drops of rain.

~Written by Steve Wilson

Best uncle ever.
Best uncle ever.

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