Tate Morgan > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

I remember the dark door where we hid from all the rain A dry respite from the storm safe in arms I'd felt no pain

I am the roots, You are the tree.

All that's left of our sweet love, is this song that we once knew.

Life washed by endless rain

Now a father of my own; I see him bright laughing still.

Hard the road that trekked our life.

My son how I love him.

Left to us was this memory: Kindness, he lit by way he knew.

They lay down their arms to worship the night. Then shun the light of day.

No one walks anywhere anymore.