Birdfoot's Grampa
The old man
must have stopped our car
two dozen times to climb out
and gather into his hands
the small toads blinded
by our light and leaping,
live drops of rain.
The rain was falling,
a mist about his white hair
and I kept saying
you can't save them all,
accept it, get back in
we've got places to go.
But, leathery hands full
of wet brown life,
knee deep in the summer
roadside grass,
he just smiled and said
they have places to go, too.
by
Joseph Bruchac
.jpg)
7 comments:
This is so great Meg, thank you for sharing!!
I have missed you. I am trying to reemerge :)
XOXOXO
Just read your TV post and then this. My how they seem to go hand in hand! Sometimes you just have to stop ... stop rushing ... stop moving ... just stop like the old man. And there's no better place to stop than in the arms of someone you love. Enjoy ... soon your hands will be back on the wheel driving those characters across the keyboard and onto your hard-drive. Love to you ---
Oh, I love it! Lovely! Driving with my sister is like that. I have a picture of her with a huge skink in her hands, rescued off the road. Snakes, lizards, frogs, whatever!
This is exquisite, megg. I love its simplicity, yet it really evokes some tender images in my mind.
awwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!
LOVE it:)
this poem is wondrous my friend.
wow.
sweet. "live drops of rain" awesome.
Post a Comment