Return To Wagon Wheel

The clouds have formed a mare’s tail in the sky, a fitting image, for I’m being led beneath them, where in eerie silence lie abandoned stalls, untended land, a shed. And on a gate, like some strange souvenir, a halfway broken sign reads “Wagon Wheel.” That horses once were bred and ridden here both grime and span of time cannot conceal. But farther down a lane, behind some trees, (where happiness once lived!) awaits my spring - a large house, shuttered, with its memories. In front of it still hangs that wooden swing. Above long grass and weeds it starts to sway. The ghost of me has now returned to play. For the Love and Loss Poetry Contest