Sad tale of Clifford Griffin – I for one hear and listen to the music of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. The wind that causes the trees to whisper, raindrops on aspen leaves, the hoot of a faraway owl – all of this is music to me. Sometimes high on the mountain of the towns that the glory has left, you hear the music of those that once were. The music of all that ghost has always left me sad. Here now is such a tale.
Sad tale of Clifford Griffin
Silver Plume and Clifford Griffin – oh’ what a sad tale indeed,
Even years later in the retelling – tragic – listen, but take heed.
Clifford was an eastern man born wealthy with a silver spoon,
When he asked his love for her hand in marriage one rainy afternoon.
The young bride was beautiful and enchanted – or so it seemed,
Clifford was handsome, and affluent – more than she had dreamed.
Blissful they were – wedding plans were made for the bride and groom,
Not knowing that fate and death waited outside in the wet and gloom.
The night before their nuptials the young lady became sick and died,
Death had taken his lady love – the woman that was to be his bride.
For three days he held her lifeless body – Clifford’s heart now broken,
Through the tears and grief those many hours he remained unspoken.
His grief and misery from her death would forever be proven timeless.
Through anguished and despair – Clifford a good man never lost his kindness.
Hoping to forget what he thought should be – and death’s long shadow,
With his forever love now gone, he fled west to Silver Plume, Colorado.
Located at the base of Pendleton Mountain and below timberline,
Clifford in Colorado became the owner not of a gold, but, a silver mine.
History, and his miners would always say he was one hell of a boss,
Even though sorrow and the death of his love would be his albatross.
Sundays and every day at the end of his employees and miners shift,
Clifford alone in his silver mine – played a violin – music was his gift.
Above the town the sad music, and melancholy would drift on down,
Clifford used his violin, bow, and music – his misery he tried to drown.
Sitting on their porches and listening to the mournful music – the miners would,
Knowing his tale they thought the music made him happy – they misunderstood.
For several years, this was Clifford’s unhappy life as it was meant to be,
One night he thought of a solution that he thought would set him free.
On this night the music played for longer than any night before,
Until midnight the music honored the love and the one he adored.
At the stroke of midnight – mountains echoed the sound of a gunshot,
Clifford took his own life against the one and only demon he fought.
The miners found him – pistol still in his hand – violin at his side,
As he entered the afterlife to be with his love – his almost bride.
A hundred years or more have passed since the tale of Clifford Griffin,
He still plays his violin and the sad music – you only have to listen.
Some sad songs and stories of love – beyond this life they transcend,
In Silver Plume, Colorado is where Clifford’s heartbreaking tale never ends.
Kurt James © 2017
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