The Hearthstone

The Hearthstone

My pipe, blowing smoke.

My chair on the porch in the morning cold.

Wrapped in layers of the family's love.

I sit and listen to the grandkids noise.

I watch the River.

Memories come drifting passed my eyes.

They flow steady like the current.

And float on down into the dawn of neverwhen.

don't care about memories.

don't care about tomorrow.

It only knows today.

And what might happen.

Reviews

[Benita-Staebell M - Kin..]

I don't drink or smoke. but this had a woody feel to it.


Very nicely said thank you for sharing.


blessings. Benita/ kindred poet