Reminiscence

Fifty years I see it clear 
a face gone pale 
a falling tear 
a silent stare as she began 
the cutting words that choked like sand 
our breath was taken 
our hearts were stone 
my eyes were fixed 
on a tear alone 
before it hit the wooden floor 
the world beyond our first grade door 
had changed from one of children's dreams 
from castles, songs, woods and streams 
to a good man unsure of what to say 
of the world we would have the following day 
he removed his glasses 
and trembling...he said; 
"The President has died" 
 
Camelot is dead