up on a wayward path
where the air hung stale and dry
much like the ash of a wayward day
which coated life in a sheen of gray
from the wayward trees
to fine trinketings,
its arms reached over everything
The expanse bespoke a memory,
of dreams and life alike
not yet ready to be forgot
for twas much better than a photograph
an image of a thought
for it bespoke a presence,
true to form and passionate life
it was ready to be embraced
I cherished that weather bet house
and the land upon which it stood
for although the memory, not mine
it remained within my mind
not yet ready to be forgot
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