by Eddie Edwards Draper
I Wonder Where That Breeze Has Been
My Grandad built this ole porch swing around '37
Bare handed, with no modern tools;
When he died, I requested it to be handed down to me.
Tonight, like every night, I sit and listen to the
chains squeak, like it was yesterday, past--
I can still see him reading the Delta Democrat Times,
and sharing the stories of his youth.
As I sway back and forth on this ole swing tonight, I
ponder the wind blowing on my aging face
And wonder where that breeze has been--
Has that breeze been blown over one of my ole love's
face, before it got to me? Has it touched someone out
West--someone I know, or not?
I wonder where that breeze has been.
Memories are just a cherished thought that conjures
up the past--
Tonight this wind, as I sit and feel, has me captured
And I wonder where that breeze has been.