Ten more yearsA Poem by Jon Roggie
I have said it before,
and at times it becomes painful. I want to become a hermit. Longing for peace, and silence. I have to wait. Niece is fifteen, and I am the executor. So, I have to help raise her, and wait until she is twenty-five. Make the best of it. I have ten years of conversations. She gets to help set up my cave.
© 2017 Jon Roggie |
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1 Review Added on July 19, 2017 Last Updated on July 19, 2017 AuthorJon RoggiePorterville, CAAboutI tend to ramble, and rarely explain myself. Take that as you will more..Writing
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