Passed the cutoff for sycamore creek
up round about the CR 245;
down 71, looking for deerpath way—
it wasn’t like I was lucky to be alive.
Blew out the front right firestone
traveling at or around the posted speed;
came to stop beyond cypress creek—
changing the tire wasn’t that much of a deed.
But jacking the 2004 was half a bit harder
as the tears fell out about my taut reserve;
seems the bells had just begun to ring—
what high truth do the chimes preserve?
Back down the road at half passed the rain
needing a bathroom stop something awful,
like I knew might not ever see them again;
exited at a station in a manner not quite lawful.
Email said it simple, nothing quite so very grand:
she was taken at 5:11pm to the seton highland.
Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.