deepundergroundpoetry.com
Its Not Much But Its Home
Gray like overcast skies
Old wooden kindling
On dull red sand it lies
Through knock down wars of will
And devastating tornadoes
There it stands valiant and still
Echoes of our voices and laughter
The purr of a contented cat
Freshly cut aromas from the push mower
Familiarity in the very existence of it
The place I've always called my home
I dream of wandering far away... Yet
My roots will always be planted
In this red Mississippi sand
Old wooden kindling
On dull red sand it lies
Through knock down wars of will
And devastating tornadoes
There it stands valiant and still
Echoes of our voices and laughter
The purr of a contented cat
Freshly cut aromas from the push mower
Familiarity in the very existence of it
The place I've always called my home
I dream of wandering far away... Yet
My roots will always be planted
In this red Mississippi sand
Published 9th Aug 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 0
comments 1
reads 56
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
- Edited 17th May 2018 1:37pm
9th Aug 2014 8:28pm
<< post removed >>
