I hear the familiar
Johnclarestokes
How long does one dwell in the presence
Of those gone on
Seems they haven’t left us
In all the familiar places
We see the coffee made just so
The same eggs and grits off the menu
We inexplicably pull the visor down
Even upon the cloudy day
“It’s going to rain, see, the cows
are laying down”
Make the same familiar comments
“It seems they are on a trip”, she’d say,
as we passed the Dicks place.
We would go along, never tell
No, they both have died.
The trip is where we’d rather reside.
No comments:
Post a Comment