As the Crow Flies
It's only a short way after you cross the first bridge
as the crow flies, as they say.
Just shake the coal from your clothes
and the black from your boots
and walk the road between there and here.
You'll know it when the sky falls flat
and the land rolls beneath your feet,
when the creek ignores the treasure in your grip,
when the day holds light instead of dark.
You'll feel it in the way the crow flies straight
between who you were and who you are
with or without your permission.
you are invited to follow my blogReplyDelete
This poem pulls at me...ReplyDelete
Musical and true. Great insight.ReplyDelete
i really love how your words sing.ReplyDelete
great ending. so true.
i've always admired your natural talent