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Riding home from a long trip
a solitary day in the wild
hand tiring from steering's grip.
I count the years which time has piled.
My mind is filled up with the past.

At last my mail box comes in sight
as the daylight fades to dark
and the full moon rises round and bright
shedding its light cold and stark.

Out of my truck and through the door
came coat hung on its hook
smile curves my lips as oft before
as Susan give a welcoming look
which turns thoughts to the now at last.

And in her lap a baby lies
the daughter of my youngest son
a sleeping form with tight closed eyes
whose history has just begun.
She drags thought to the future not yet cast.

Abigail Margaret Holliday January 2, 2019

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


I sure can see it. We are all dragged into
the world screaming (or most of us), not
wanting to leave the warmth of the womb
and if we are lucky enough to be dragged
into loving arms ... yes, I can see it.

thanks for sharing

Yes our children and grandchildren have a way of making us refocus on the future instead of the past. Always good to have you drop by

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