by Rick Boling
(Instrumental break)
A time for making promises
Initials in a tree
Dreaming of tomorrow
And longing to be free
Children born of innocence
Like flowers in the wind
A time filled with beginnings
Never thinking of the end
And then a time for growing up
And hearing nature’s song
Of quiet days and simple ways
And time to sing along
(Instrumental break)
But Robin’s song
Is passing with the changing seasons
Leaving me without a reason
An echo of June
That ended too soon
Fading to a whisper
Robin’s song
A memory as my companion
A river flowing through a canyon
That’s now running dry
And I’ll never know why
We can’t be together
’Cause I know I’ve loved before
Given all I can
I’m only just a man
But I‘ve given so much more
Than anyone could know
To make this feeling grow . . .
Sunday Morning Sentinel
(© 1972 Rix Vaughn)
Along a dusty pathway past an old abandoned mine
I found a rustic cabin overgrown with weeds and vines
And as I stumbled over broken boards and through the door
I found a yellowed paper lying folded on the floor
And when I bent to try and read the news
There must have been 'least fifty years of dust around my shoes
And it said Sunday Morning Sentinel, as I folded out the crease
And I recall the biggest word upon the page …
Was “Peace”
I wandered out the door again and down the dusty road
Pulled my coat up high around my ears against the cold
And deep inside I felt a warmth that I had felt before
When Mama said that Daddy would be coming home from War
And as the memories danced inside my head
I recalled the morning paper and the words that I had read
And it said Sunday Morning Sentinel, the fighting's going to cease
And I recall the biggest word upon the page …
Was “Peace”
Reality had started to creep up inside my mind
And the tears I had been looking for, well they weren't hard to find.
And as I walked into the town, I bowed my head in prayer
For my brother who was crippled, and my son who was still there
And I said Lord, Lord, Lord, it isn’t fair
But as I passed a newsboy on the street
I saw the headlines on the stack of papers at his feet
And it said Sunday Morning Sentinel
It's Over in the East
And I recall the biggest word upon the page …
Was “Peace”
Acknowledgements
Acknowledgements
The author wishes to thank the following editors, critical readers, and literary advisors for their patience, suggestions, and uncanny ability to spot my often-egregious errors. Without their careful scrutiny and sometimes painfully-honest evaluations over the more than two years it took me to write this novel, it could never have been completed in a form that even vaguely resembles the story you have just read.
Elaine Smith, whose decades of experience as a mystery novelist (under the pen name ECS), editor, and creative-writing instructor, continue to prove invaluable in criticizing and correcting my work.
Burt Kempner, accomplished screen writer and author of the enormously successful Mild Wild Stories series of children’s books, whose intimate knowledge of Native American culture and the worldwide impact of sociopolitical trends contributed greatly to the thematic development of this story.
Jonni Gill, long-time friend and literary critic, whose willingness to suffer through my fumbling attempts at a first-draft helped me turn a complex idea into an understandable and (I hope) entertaining bit of socially-relevant science fiction.
Martha Armstrong, childhood friend and emotional confidant, whose expertise in library science and voracious appetite for reading have made her one of my most trusted and reliable critical readers.
Elizabeth Boleman-Herring, editor/publisher of weeklyhubris.com and author of the erotic novel, The Visitors' Book (or, Silva Rerum), for her help in proofreading portions of the novel.
My Sister, Diana, whose generosity and encouragement over the years have not only been instrumental in assuring my survival, but have allowed me to continue my creative pursuits in the face of often extremely challenging circumstances.
Finally, I would like to thank my mother, the late Nina Belle Boling, without whose tolerance of my musical choices and unflagging support I would never have been able to establish the entertainment career from which the novel’s characters and historical realism were derived.
About The Author