Still searching near Saco, Montana


Sharon -- name filled so full

with giving, it clouded over life.


Your song, take this, take me

sung to each who came, 


took, fled, no look back -- 

you, alone once more


in Highline flatland you call home.

Permit yourself to sob, weep


a fierce thunderstorm of tears,

fill washes, gullies, draws,


flood miles of red spring wheat,

enough to drown promises


each new lover whispered

before the leaving day.


As night wind breathes hope

into soggy fields, you shared,


kept faith that sometime, a lover

would finally give back --


happiness, children, farm.

Hold tight to your dream, Sharon.


No cloud heavy with hail 

can rip every kernel of wheat 


from sturdy stalks, deny grain 

sprouted, growing, waving high.


Someone soon will bring you luck --

bumper crop beyond imagination --


Montana soulmate by your side,

sun breaking through the cloudy sky. 

                              Timothy Pilgrim