As I remember back,
To a younger age,
I now own the house,
Where I was raised,
Remembering, the rules,
My parents, drilled into me,
It's a strange feeling,
Sorting, all of their, stuff,
This home feels, incomplete.
I can just pray,
For their traveling souls,
And that I am doing right,
In this life's earthly roll,
I will never see them,
In the same costume, again,
This chapter is over,
It's time to start, a new script,
As my next part begins.
Tom Maxwell copyright 4/10/2019 A.D.1: 37 A.M.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's your turn now... to live by the drills done earlier... to feel their presence in their absence too... Thanks