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
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