Crossing Over
We’re at my son’s house for the weekend.
The doorbell rings - who could it be?
The son of the previous owners,
In the neighborhood, hoping to see
And show off to his wife and her mother
The home he grew up in and missed.
“Could we see the backyard” he inquired.
“Please come in,” said my son. “I insist.”
So we showed them around and he noticed
All the changes, plus things still the same,
While we chatted and somehow they mentioned
Where they currently live, which became
Such a strange bit of chance to discover
That the place they reside’s half a mile
From the home where my son spent his childhood
And where we live (and have all this while).
Unexpected events sometimes happen
And although this is up for debate,
When a circumstance comes up like this one,
I believe it’s connected to fate.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
