You and Me

The sky smiled down at you and I, that beautiful June morning. Colors painted the sky in my mind's eye, that beautiful June morning. 

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

A week blows by, in the blink of an eye, and now it is July. You and I, licking our fingers dry from a birthday cake, blue as the sky. Ten candles blown out one by one, for each year we have done.

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

Christmas lights up the sky, twinkling way up high. Snow floats down from the blue, blue heavens, while the bows on the wreaths beckon and beckon. Snow in your hair near the trees that are bare, and no day can compare to the smile on your face when you stuff yourself with food after they say grace.

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

Summer’s in the air, but not without care because your beautiful, beautiful face is in despair.

“No one will love me. Never the way you do.”

And you cry and cry, while June is nigh, and the sun is high in the bright blue sky.

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

Autumn is here and the sky is clear, as we watch the deer with the balladeer. 

“I am music and the music is me, for I am a devout and you have no doubt.”

The leaves from the trees, and the breeze from the seas, the warmth of the chai, and the promise of July, with you and I side by side:

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

Spring is in full swing, here in Beijing and the flowers are a ring about your wing. The wings of a fairy, so light and airy, who could be wary of a girl so daring. When the butterflies fly and the clouds are shy, it’s you and I in the fields close by.

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

Graduation is here, and we all cheer, even though our futures aren’t quite clear. Your head’s in the clouds with your feet on the ground, and your heart knows no bounds, for you’re reaching for the stars.

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

July comes by to say hi, and you and I sit down by the lake. College is hard, and there’s no time to be off guard, so we sit by the lake, in our spot by the lake, and being with you is like coming awake.

Now your hands are in my hair, your blue eyes so rare, staring in mine and laying me bare. As your lips capture mine, and our bodies align:

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

The wedding bells chime and your hand is in mine, as we run down the aisle toward a life worthwhile. Your white, white dress billowing like a cloud, and your beautiful, beautiful face make me feel proud.

The words flow between us, the words once treasonous:

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Now you're squeezing my hand, as the baby lands in the arms of a nurse who was never adverse. She’s placed in your arms as she works her charms, touching your face as you name her Grace.

With her mother’s blue eyes and her father’s brown hair, she learns to walk without a care. And when the cake is adorned with a big, giant one, she blows out the candle after the song is sung. She dances ‘round the house in her favorite blue blouse, and I know without a doubt that she will sprout. I take your hand and think of all we have planned.

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

On Valentine’s Day, we sway by the fire and listen to the music we inspired. The balladeer is here, a friend so dear, for he taught us to be devout and have no doubt.

“I am music and the music is me, for I am devout and you have no doubt.”

Grace makes a face, demanding to sing, and her voice makes me feel she knows everything. Sixteen candles on a blue, blue birthday cake, so soon she’ll be leaving us in her wake.

You by my side, your eyes filled with pride:

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

When wedding bells chime for the second time, I know in my heart that she is quite smart. With a ring on her finger and a man on her arm, for certain he will never do her harm.

I turn towards my life, gray streaks in your hair, a wrinkle or two from the laughs we’ve shared. And I’ll never be wary if you are nary.

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

Granddaughter in my lap, small teeth with gaps, she looks in my eyes and asks for french fries. We all have a laugh as she slides down my calf, crawling to the kitchen where we all pitch in.

July is nigh, but you are my ally through everything, everything, even things beyond.

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

Christmas again, when our granddaughter is ten, now it’s snow in her hair near the trees that are bare and her smile is yours and your smile is hers. She covers herself in bows, sits in your lap and says, “Grandma, I have a gift for you to unwrap.”

She’s the best gift given, for no day can compare to the smile on her face when Grace gives chase. They run ‘round the house the way Grace used to do before she grew. The tears in your eyes, as you look up at the skies:

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”

It’s that beautiful June morning, in our spot by the lake, where I scatter your ashes and my heart breaks. The moon high in the sky, I know you’re nearby, for your shadow is in the water to say goodbye. The reflection of the moon, that early morning June, I say our words one last time.

“It’s you and me,” I say. “Always you and me.”