Is This Really All There Is? Poem by Barry A. Lanier

Sometimes I sit down down with my pen and ask myself?
Is this really all there is?
Sitting here feeling melancholy in this moment,
I wonder, what is it that I love most?
Could it be, sleeping under the sound of a gentle rain?
Or yet better a gentle rain on a tin roof?
Sitting in a swing on the front porch on an August night,
Swapping fishing stories with my best friend.
Walking barefoot in a cool mountain spring in the Smokies.
Watching the birth of my newborn girls, hearing that first scream!
to be continued