Waiting now for the inevitable,

The road passes directly by the house in shadows,

Hastily boarded up in expectation of a red force marching this way.

 

While a youngster with a whistle beckons death,

Once faint, now with a discernable tune,

Hunting muskets, long since used,

Become ready for perhaps the last time.

 

As dread is swallowed hard,

To be digested by courage.

 

 

Not of my lonesome soul,

Only engaged in a moment of now,

With brakes almost fully applied,

In a slow-motion exercise,

Grasping each stalk of grass,

Or thistle, or blade carefully.

 

Thereby avoiding damage,

To its essence or my body.

 

Until transformed into something which matters to me.

Meaning.

 

She tells all with a glance,

Waiting for the visitor,

 

She tells all with those tired eyes,

My family loves me,

 

She tells all of life,

My gifted journey belies this face,

 

She tells all while waiting.

For the visitor who always shows,

 

And loves her constantly.