Page 36 - Mega Bridal Issue

Shared with us by one of our valued readers, this poem was
written by her grandmother in 1931

Trails

By Grace M. Johnston (Grandmother of Nanette Frank)
1931

We once knew a rail to an old pasture gate,
Where Pride, Bess and Jersey would patiently wait.
The scent of the warm, clean breath of the cows,
As we lowered the bars, we liked is somehow.

We’d follow them home at the close of each day,
And fireflies from milkweeds, gave light to the way.
Bare feet making prints, in the cool, damp dust,
As we sauntered along, with childhood’s sweet trust.

A katy did shrilled form his perch in a tree,
Just where he was hiding, we never could see.
A whippoorwill called to his mate in the field,
And told of the seed, he was planning to steal.

The end of this trail was the old barnyard lot,
Where jimson grew high, and surrounded the plot.
The faint, musky fragrance their blossoms gave out,
Was wine to the moth that flitted about.
36 Then youth knew a trail through an old wooded park,
Where lovers held hands, in the still summer dark.
We talked of the weather, the stars and the moon,
But we thought in our hearts of a wedding some June.

We dreamed many dreams that didn’t come true,
But when castles tumbled, we built them anew.
We knew not a care that we couldn’t erase,
By the touch of some Heart Musings
hand, or the smile of some face.
By Chinh L. Hoang
Then came the trail down the village church aisle,
All strewn with rose petals, our steps to beguile, You stepped into my gray world,
The organ played softly, and someone sang, Brightened it with summer skies,
“I Love You Truly,” and then came the ring. With spring flowers and sunshine
In your warm, smiling eyes.
The parson said sternly, “You are now man and wife,”
And wished us the blessings of a long, happy life.
You listened to my silence,
We now know a trail no poet has found, Filled my blue heart with laughter,
In silence it carries a world of renowned. With happy songs from your heart,
There the thirsty may drink, and the hungry be fed, And love, softly whispered.
The salt of the earth, on it’s surface has tread.

The wisdom of nations flows out from it’s brink, You put your hand in my hand
This dutiful trail . . . When life’s long road stretched empty.
. . . . from the stove to the sink. Across the miles and seasons,
A lost stream had reached the sea.

Like wild storms in the mountains,
Like gentle waves washed ashore,
Like a first love from years past,
I love you so—and more.