The Visit

I go to visit you and there I stand Between me and you Hay, dust, dirt, and some land A beautiful pot of flowers unmanned I feel like I am in a church service But, outside I am I come here like this a lot If I talk to you, will you hear my thoughts? The others all surround me just the same Hay, dust, dirt, and a flowerpot call their names This is what has become of you and I Why does this have to be? I want to stand on the ground, stomp and swear You cannot be down there; it is too much to bear. But, I am supposed to come here and visit... Hay, dust, dirt and a flowerpot. I hope you hear my thoughts. Holly P. Moore October 2012