One late fall day, upon arriving at the MARTA Peachtree Street Station in downtown Atlanta, I jumped off the train and headed for the escalator which took me to the street level above. As I moved onto the bottom step of the escalator, clear in my mind I heard a voice say, “Get a piece of paper.  There is a poem coming”! You may not think this to be such an event; however, for me, it was quite a surprise. As a child in school, writing poetry had been far from my forte’! I had struggled to find words that would rhyme, as well as having meaning. Still, the urge, to write down the words that were coming at that moment on the escalator, was so strong that I succumbed to the creative impulse.

I pulled out a Wachovia ATM slip and a pen. Frantically, I started writing as the words poured into my mind. Balancing between the upward movement of the stairway beneath me and the slip of paper held to my purse for support against the pen. Chicken scratches appeared on the slip of paper. By the time I had reached street level, the poem was complete. The words scribbled in haste looked like a reminder in some foreign language.

Thinking back on it reminds me of one of those 3-D pictures that your eyes have to focus on. When the words took form, it was as though I had stepped back and the image in the picture suddenly snapped into clarity. There WAS a poem there!

Here is the poem, written November 1998 by sarmack, on an escalator in downtown Atlanta, Georgia.

          If wishes were presents, I’d send you a few.

          Whatever your heart desires, I’d give it to you.

          If dreams were a gift God gave me to give,

          I’d make your life happy as long as you live.

          If raindrops were kisses, the breeze were a hug,

          I’d pray for sweet summer’s rain and winds from above.

          If stars were a friend’s hello singing sweetly to you,

          I’d pray for an angel’s voice and that’s what I’d do.

For his birthday that was that November, I sent this poem to a friend whom I had not seen for some time. He had been there for me when there was no one else to listen. I never heard back from him. I do not know if he ever received the personally made birthday card I sent that winter. For the longest time, I kept that Wachovia slip to remind me of the Miracle of words God had given me. I had the poem published so it would never be lost forever.

In another winter, this one of 2009, the poem again came to me. This time it had another verse added to the end.

          If a rainbow could reach across this country to you,

          I’d pray that my heart would be with you, too.

It is a reminder that true friends never leave you, even if they are only with you in your heart. Friends are not necessarily people you spend a lot of time with. I like to think of it as a Spiritual connection. Friends are never more than a thought away.

          You will Always be precious to me, my friend!