By the Road to Regina I saw her in May,
tousled hair shining bright as the sun.
I sat up and peered closer, all sleepiness gone,
she was barefoot and tattered, but seemed to have fun
as she stood in the weeds 'long the way.
Intrigued, I pulled up, calling: „Care for a ride?“
She looked blank, so I beckoned and grinned,
she smoothed down her green gown, shyly laughed and replied
„Many thanks, Sir - - - but I wait for the wind.“
Days like nectar and light, does she know of the night,
does she fathom the where and the when?
Only rain, grass and sky on the Road to Regina,
and she smiles and the world turns again.
So, in fall, one grey day, I once more came that way,
all the fields now lay bare and unploughed.
There she stood - wrinkled features, both mellow and proud,
ancient eyes, tousled hair gleaming white as a cloud
and bare feet sticking deep in the clay.
Well, I pulled up and called, „Gran, I'll take you to town!“
and a smile lit her face, gaunt and thinned,
but shaking her head she smoothed down her worn gown
and said: „Thanks, dear - - - I still wait for the wind!“
Days like resin and wine, is she seeing the signs,
does she notice the colors have gone?
Is she wondering why on that Road to Regina?
She just smiles and the world tumbles on.
I returned late that year. No-one was here
but the snow and the ribbon of tar.
In the gathering dusk I climbed out of my car,
trudging over the fields I looked wet and bizarre
as I grinned - - - finally feeling the wind.
Days like pearls on a string, I come back every spring
to the place where she'd stolen away,
thus the seasons drift by on the Road to Regina
and winds travel far, yet wherever you are -
let me know if you see her some day.
Winner of the FilkContinental 2007 songwriting contest, topic: „Dandelion“ and/or „Wine“
For Tom and Dave
September 19th, 2007