The Breezes of Middletown
When the wind is just right,
I can close my eyes and
pretend I'm in Middletown,
pretend I can see the Blue
Ridge Mountains off in the
distance with the haze that
gives them their name.
Farmsteads, hundreds of
years old, reappear in my mind,
and cattle graze happily all around.
I see the ancient road stretching
westward, site of much marching
and many skirmishes, the conduit
to Antietam and Gettysburg.
Near that road, I raised my children.
There is no desert there, no sage;
just woodlands and deep jade grass.
Middletown is my heart, my
soul, my dream.
And if God calls me home and
finds me worthy,
Middletown will be my heaven.
Copyright © Mary Rotman | Year Posted 2015
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