Thirty years
after selling the farm
I still
missed where my home had been…
I ached for
my horse, the fields, the view,
A chance to hold
my own dirt again.
I dulled the
steady trauma of change
With a thousand
bottles of wine…
New jobs,
new houses and friendships
So many life
changes in that time.
I discovered
today for the first time
Young kids
have lassoed my dreams…
Their
futures are open to gambles and chance,
Mine sewn
shut, with permanent seams.
Today, I also woke up to see,
Where I
landed and rarely toil…
Is smack in
the middle of paradise
The dirt in
my hands, my soil.
I don’t care
after my passing,
Becoming a
life that time forgot…
But request
the keeper of this blog,
Move this
poem to the top.
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