Open Poetry #50 |
![]() ![]() |
Last time? |
![]() ![]() ![]() |
Honeybunch Member Rara Avis
since 2001-12-29
Posts 7115South Africa ![]() |
She looked at her wagon decrepit and old; can it make one trip down yonder road with a load much lighter than ever before and a soul that knows it will soon have to die? The wagon was silent; it had spoken before of one last, one last, and another last one and now closed eyes to think (maybe pray) could it be, could it be, the final last one. It looked at the pasture beyond its foresight and thought maybe, yes, it could live out its days relaxing, reclining, and remembering all the trips back and forth and round about. Maybe, just maybe, time is its friend to allow four wheels to sink into the sand and bring in peace previously denied the one that travelled through experiences. Suspicious of time; friend or foe do you think but wagons and gypsies know time is just time so easily susceptible to a change of mind on its relentless march to demise - if there such a thing be. Helen / 9 February 2017 |
||
© Copyright 2017 Helen - All Rights Reserved | |||
BluesSerenade Member Patricius
since 2001-10-23
Posts 10549By the Seaside |
It's all about the journey...and the wagon of course. Wonderful, reflective piece of poetry Helen. So good to see you here. Hugs, honey girl. |
||
Honeybunch Member Rara Avis
since 2001-12-29
Posts 7115South Africa |
Hugs to you too, dear Bluesy Gal. I do miss the good old days here when I needed to write so many things out but now I'm dusting off the wagon and moving again. ![]() Look after yourself lovely one! |
||
![]() ![]() |
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
![]() ![]() ![]() |
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. |