Wish I had seen it coming. Whining now in hind sight as if I didn’t have a clue. All along I knew. It sneaks and creeps. We party, sleep, pretending not to see. Choosing not to know. Ever closer every year. We’ve see the fields grow. Stones and plaques row after row. Showing full bloom on holidays or waves of ole Glory in the breeze. Just passing through, well lucky you. Take care Pilgrim and pass on, pass on. Manicured turf broken here and there with neat piles of fresh earth awaiting another newbirth of sorts. Restful Garden. Peaceful Acres. Planting pilgrims. Growing bronze and stone.
jrw copyright 02/02/08