Classic Poem

Place to place, always

Looking, city country farm
Or field, some small patch of
Ground to call “home” for a
Time, people passing in and out
Faces of a dream, disappearing
The sigh and moan of found and lost

Taking and giving bits and pieces of
Themselves, each memory a
Locket, worn close to the breast
Belonging nowhere and everywhere
A new road always beckoning
The future always unknown, always

Re-creating itself.


(Previously published in Autumn Leaves, May 2003)