Quiet of the city rushing slowly past
Dark of passing asphalt below.
Fingers curled cold in the wind of the night,
Back is bent very low.
Soon to arrive at my quiet home,
Porch light flickers, dim to the eyes.
I wonder at life and the memories I've sown,
And imagine my son's tiny cries.
Dark of passing asphalt below.
Fingers curled cold in the wind of the night,
Back is bent very low.
Soon to arrive at my quiet home,
Porch light flickers, dim to the eyes.
I wonder at life and the memories I've sown,
And imagine my son's tiny cries.
1 comment:
I love your poem honey. It is so cute! It made me cry...like everything else lately huh? I still love it though! Thank you for everything you do for me and our son...7 weeks honey!
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