Sometimes it gets hard behind the wheel,
In my life, thinking of all it's brought.
So many deeds and misdeeds wrought.
All the history right here, on I-35.
I remember one December morning,
The final day of a meaningful year.
I awoke in the middle of the night,
Knowing the day would include my love.
Showered to wash my doubt away,
Shaved to face challenge coming my way.
The wait over now as my excitement grew,
Silently, I escaped to the clear country air.
Just so it was that even before the sun rose,
Somehow I knew it would be a pivotal day.
Unique and unlike any before,
As I placed behind all other cares.
So now, after all this time,
I distinctly remember how she smiled,
At you, humble necklace,
Inside that little Indian shop.
It's possible you were the very first thing,
To catch her eye that shopping day.
Easy to recall just how and where she stood,
And with you how she delicately played.
How, after considering you for a while,
She carefully laid you back in your place.
Asked delicately if she wanted to keep you,
She politely said she'd rather look some more.
Yet here you are in my opened hand,
Something that she clearly liked, but not enough.
Set carefully back up on the shelf,
In case something better was found.
Delicate, subtle features there,
Colors reminding me of her hair,
Still gleaming and cheerful,
Would just have to be so beautiful against her skin.
My only relic from that exceptional day,
At the end of a bygone year.
Timeless, pleasant, yet furiously sad,
A refugee, a survivor in the wrong hands...
All that's left of that wonderful day,
Which from the moment I awoke,
I knew would never come again.
One I wished would never come to an end.
Into your box, out of sight with the memories,
Gone from my touch, every night.
Away from my longing and unhealing looks,
I must commend you to her now.
It's not as I intended, of course.
I should have been right there,
Closing the delicate reunion clasp,
Watching as you touch her precious skin.
After a salty tear or two, or a dozen, abates,
I'm greeted by visions of her beautiful face.
The thrill of her hand on the Riverwalk that day,
The pleasure of looking straight into her eyes.
My heart, as large as the full Texas moon,
Knows it's unwise to wonder why.
Wrong to shed tears over fallen mesquite,
And other follies that tease the passing sky.
Through dozens of years ahead,
I know I'll alway wonder but never ask,
If the love within you ever touched her,
Or if she ever wore you at all.
So, I send you now into her hands,
Something that she once clearly desired.
Unusual, strangely attractive, just like me,
Gingerly put back on the shelf.
So much time, so many moons.
Dry, hot, unhospitable this country seems.
Much more driving along this old road,
Is in store, no doubt, for me.