Drove by the old house today.
A stranger in waiting, sold the shame.
Thus far, looming sadness hung in the earthy frame.
In the snow encrusted trail.
Further on down a humble gravel road.
Sitting on a rocky fence.
Composed centuries before, in haste, by a homesteader’s plight.
I had become slack about what steered me here.
That is until my seated bones turned stale and cold.
And, unchained branches of nature reminded me…
‘there are stories yet to be told.’