She'll see shadows
Where there is none,
Hear voices long
Since died, swear like
A trooper, curse
The hell out of
All who listen,
The days mud
Muddled, the hours
Mingled with those
Gone before and
This her mother,
One who sat on
The front porch at
Sundown and smiled
And sang those good
Old gospel tunes.
She'll see people
No longer there;
Feel their touch in
Cool mid air, where
All is vacant
Except her stare
At ghostly birds
In flight across
Her memory's
Slow fading stage.
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Comments: 7
in creating songs to sing
each of your writes strums a tune
familiar in when I sing.
Good stuff.
I have a dear friend who was actually baker act thinking she was schizophrenic when it was intuition and paranormal sight
Also working at a rehab and aged home I had one beautiful lady thatt was "certainly mad" warn me of an impending health problem that could have been the end of my walking...