Peace at the end of a dirt road

Rusted gates

Welcomes you

Mind the dust

No need for shoes

Wooden floors

Tell stories, now

Of timeless joy

And sweaty brows

Kettle’s boiling

Sun is up

We’re early birds

Come fill your cup

Milk is out

There’s some bread

Wake the cow

Behind the shed

Light a fire

Feel the glow

In places lost

Your soul will glow.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

My father lived in the mountain of North Virginia. Your words took me back to his home. Nice to have a quiet and safe place to go to. Thank you, dear friend for sharing the wonderful poetry.
Coyote

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Sometimes we live lives in which we follow a pattern. And we might get bored with it and lose that fire in our bellies and in our hearts.
But if we really think about it, we might be grateful that we have something to live for, and we have duties that keep us busy...boredom can kill worse than routine.
j.