Grass/Ground

Old songs and old memories.
What has happened, what hasn’t happened.

I think I’m old.
Eighteen years of age, to be exact.

Every year brings memories, of heights and depth.

So glad for things that never change. So glad for joys that rock my world. So glad for scars, reminders of healing and recovery.

More. More. More
There has to be more than this.
There is more than this.
I want to be more than this.
I want to do more than this.

I want to throw myself in a pool so immense and humongous.
Into a task so gigantic and utterly goliathly.

But then I promise to be faithful to feeding the sheep, the lambs, the rams and the ewes.

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