This Is the Road

This is the road that leads to my father's home It is old and dusty with bullock-carts creaking, Carrying the heavy weight of the freshly cut sugar-cane To the mills nearby for our sugar laden tables, Piled in our court-yards are the freshly made cane balls Tingling on our taste-buds with its melting ginger tang. This is the road that zig-zags to my father's dear home Cyclists are few carrying fodder for the cattle, Trudging on the pathway with bundles on their heads Farmers are spotted and responsibilities enumbered, Carefree children running all asunder The rural joys have much for us to remember. This is the road lined with dancing mustard fields Halt it will at my father's flowering doorstep, My mother will be sitting in the verandah patiently Peering her eyes in wait for her daughter to return, Thirsty is her heart for her daughter's true love Nestle will I in the warmth of her arms. This is the only road that I always do treasure Woven is it with memories to pleasure, Every pebble and sand grain is drenched In the sweat of my father's very long sacrifice, My mother's footsteps are embedded in time Leading me home with my finger she held. (Second Place May 6, 2016 For Nayda Ivette Negron Memories) (October 15, 2015 Contest: The Doesn't Fit Sponsor: Carol Eastman) June 26, 2016 For Laura Loo Second Place