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Must've been in late September |
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When last I climbed Reunion Hill |
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I fell asleep on Indian Boulder |
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And dreamed a dream I will not tell |
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I came home as the sun went down |
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One eye trained upon the ground |
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Even now I find their things |
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Glasses, coins, and golden rings |
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It's ten years since that ragged army |
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Limped across these fields of mine |
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I gave them bread, I gave them brandy |
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But most of all I gave them time |
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My well is deep, the water pure |
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The streams are fed by mountain lakes |
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I cleaned the brow of many a soldier |
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Dousing for my husband's face |
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I won't forget our sad farewell |
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And how I ran to climb that hill |
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Just to watch him walk across the valley |
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And disappear into the trees |
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Along there in a sea of blue |
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It circles every afternoon |
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A single hawk in God's great sky |
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Looking down with God's own eyes |
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He soars above Reunion Hill |
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I pray he spiral higher still |
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As if from such an altitude |
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He might just keep our love in view |
