Gravestone

The burnt tobacco from your pipe
Spilled on letters that you typed
Still lingers in my smoky memory.
The stale Winstons in the air
Curl like ringlets in your hair.
The past just rolls along and I can see.
I said, "I'm here. I hear you knocking, knocking on my gravestone."

Your chocolate pudding pie homemade
Soaks up too sweet lemonade
Drunk from old cartoon jelly glasses.
Dancing on my mind and tongue:
You were old when I was young.
Memories fade with each day that passes.
I said, "I'm here. I hear you knocking, knocking on my gravestone."

Your pocketwatch tells the time.
And my birth year on a dime
Reminds me even children have a past.
This old Zippo holds the flame;
The warm metal is the same.
How long do you suppose these dreams will last?

Where and when turn to now and then.
How and why get no reply.
Where and when turn to now and then.
How and why get no reply.
But that is not the end.

White stones spread out far and wide,
Stretching out on every side.
I can't seem to pick myself up from my knees.
The rain gathered and it fell;
I opened up a black umbrella.
And I heard voices call, but not to me.
They said, "I'm here. I hear you knocking, knocking on my gravestone."