Poem By Victor S. Wallace
When you come to the end of the road,
Go ahead, explode, do not go back,
Blaze out a new trail.
In time, a Super Highway, may unveil. Fully Grown Picturing the future,
Knowing the past.
Sleeping only part-time,
Wondering if memories will last.
Winds drying the dew drops,
Remembering music from yester-year.
Laborers gathering golden crops.
Late cold rain storm appears,
Creeks rush full of motion.
Important things forgotten.
Fastest move, is slow motion.
Two spouses, rocking side by side.
Both smiling, one saying,
"You are still, my Lovely Bride."