The potholed road
Far from soothes.
Through an army
Of level grass,
It limps.
The holes are
Scars, telling
Travelers
Of heavy wear.
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Tag: road
Baby Elaine
Baby Elaine
Beneath the cedar tree
Exactly three months old
Just a square of concrete
Is all we can behold.
God places little flowers here
With His almighty hand
As if a gift to all below
Who on the black road stand.
“Gone to a better land”
With a lamb crudely carved
Was all they could afford
When in 1932
The whole land starved.
A blanket of soft green grass
Caresses those feet that tread
A comfort to those who wait,
Still living here, for bread.
