I was born in Colorado. And my parents moved away, when I was still very young, because my dad was in the Air Force. But also because they preferred other places. When I grew up and visited Colorado, I couldn’t believe they left that place. But maybe it was also because they were drawn to dewdrops at dawn.
And, for the most part, Colorado doesn’t get a lot of dew drops at dawn.
If you live there, you’re saying, “Yes it does, Tony. Are you kidding me?” But if you’ve ever lived in the humid South, maybe you understand what I mean. That moisture sometimes found on the grass, in the morning, in Colorado, can’t compare to the millions of tiny lakes on the grass down there.
Or should I say, down here?
Yeah, at this time in my life, I live back down in the humid South. And it has been extra humid here lately. After decades in Colorado, it certainly takes some adjustment. I would say “gettin’ used to,” but I never get used to it. (Side note: do you think it should be “use to” or “used to”)
Anyway…
I woke up at 2 a.m. (as too often happens) and after a couple of hours sat down at my tablet to write this post. I had something else in mind. But my dreary, somewhat foggy brain just wouldn’t go there coherently. It’s weird. But sometimes my mind seems to have a mind of its own.
So, I followed through on where my foggy thoughts led. And they led me to lyrics I wrote 48 years ago. But before I share them, I have to clarify. They’re not one of my personal recollections. The words are a fictionalized account of experiences compiled by a young, dreamy-eyed poet. And yet, in my mind’s eye, I DO see those dewdrops at dawn as I listen to…
Those Dewy Morning Flutter-by Songs
If I could only look through those amber eyes again,
I could see those lovely childhood days.
The days my father cherished.
Those times that never perished.
I would run by his side
Through the dewy, silent morning,
And the flutter-by birds sang their morning songs…
Those dewy morning flutter-by songs.
Oh the clock would steal the hours,
And I’d be welded to the powers of the fireside twinkles,
And my father’s whispered stories.
All the draperies were drawn,
And very soon the room was gone…
Lost in the world of those dewy morning flutter-by songs.
When I think nowadays
How my life was seldom bored,
I feel so empty all inside.
I have lost the knack for freedom.
Bring me truthful things; I need them.
Give me someone’s side to run by
Through the dewy, silent morning.
And listen…to the flutter-by birds
Sing their dewy morning flutter-by songs…
Those beautiful songs,
Those songs of my past,
Those dewy morning flutter-by songs.
© 1975 Tony Funderburk
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