Branches crisscross the wet
And catch their breath.
In their maze
No monster waits
In their gaze
No slur, no praise
Branches crisscross the air
I, too, watch them there.
anticipatory story
my mother is old, my father older the hopes in my heart older too I will them to come back daily the way every day shows the way every day ...
2 comments:
That was beautiful.
I loved it. I hope to see some more. :)
Thanks, Dr. Dolly :).
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