Two weeks a year

Away from city lights
Away from dirty skies
Away from family fights
And into paradise.

Air perfumed and sweet
With spruce and pine and fir
The songs of birds to greet
And streams with fish to lure.

A time to lay aside
Conflict that always comes
When father tries to guide
His adolescent son.

Days when we run and play
With energy to burn
And days when parents say
“Now listen, so you learn.”

They always pick a spot
Of some historic worth
Where battles harsh were fought
To give our country birth.

The places Revere rode
The warnings he did sound
The places Redcoats strove
To keep our country bound.

We stand high on the bluff
Over the valley low
Haze, to our eyes, is dust
Of soldiers as they go.

As father paints the scene
Great battles, fought in mud
We see not the valley green,
But freedom fighters’ blood.

We hear the muskets fire
We hear the canons ring
The price paid to acquire
Freedom from the king.

And one more time the boy
Admits he’s not too wise
To hear his father’s story
And see time through father’s eyes.