By Edward Curtin
Your hand in mine, we walk up
Yale Hill into the bright night.
I am in my robber's hat
And you are dressed as Boris
In my fur hat and blue scarf.
We pause at the singing stream
Where you gather sticks and stones
To throw into the racing foam.
Papa, you say, shine your light
Onto the rocks and water.
And I do but not before
I think: you light up my life
In ways these words can never say.
Then I throw the beam across
The stone wall into the stream
Where the wild water dances.
Into that circle of light
You toss objects of delight
Which hit and whirl and leap high
Before they vanish into night.
Up we go, crossing shadows
Cast long by the smiling moon
Across our way. Look, I exclaim,
Straight ahead, do you see the red
Star above the tree line? Yes,
You answer, and I break out
Into song: "The pale moon was
Rising above the green mountains."
I don't care how loud you sing,
You say, as we harmonize,
Our song rising to the stars
That glorify this holy night.
When we reach our special tree
Looming huge in its green magic,
You lead me through the tall grass
To touch its fury bark and feel
The grace that growing up can
Bring. The touch, my child, of life.
And back we turn into a night
So very bright we sing again:
"Together at last, together
Forever, we're tying a knot
They never can sever." Knotted,
Your hand in mine, we run down
The shadows thrown across our way
Bursting through the door of joy.
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