Tags
becoming, cherokee, connection, destiny, dreams, faith, fearless, grace, life, love, nature, old maps, passion, poetry, postmark, reason, restless, self, spirit, spirituality, wandering, wisdom, wonder
bowed against
a vow unspoken
hands are holding
(now I know)
where the path
was meant
to wander
sweet and golden
sure to home
somewhere
yet
they seek
permission –
tho granted
not for one (as I)
lives are weaved
of blissful
sorrow
borrowed
threads –
each sweet goodbye
who shall
want
for this reflection
breath to wait
the fading light
souls we saved
ten thousand (mattered)
are rushed
by faith
into the night
. . .
tornadoday 
I know this isn’t what you wrote about, Bobbie, but the title called back memories of a young boy forced to wear hand-me-down clothes and shoes. Amazing to see now just how far that bird has flown….. Love ‘n’ a hug…~Paul
…and yet (and yet) not so very……….. You may wear an older man’s clothes, but when you look in the mirror, whose eyes to you see? I’m betting on that boy with hand-me-down love. ~ Ever, Bobbie