To Be A Child

I run from the quiet impressing hopes and dreams onto an old worn-out passport. Sure plans made of ink they sign my life away to no place in particular, whilst young pitter-patter feet, for greatness, will not, nor hope; yet they awake on silence ...anticipating the moment.


Little Smiles

  When I was little smiles were a dime a dozen Now the years have passed yellow tulips stand by my side    


Remembering Footsteps

The grass soft and prickly, running along train tracks. Soaring on two wheels, falling through the cracks. Sunlight peaks through leaves, piercing outer shells. Delightful squeals of laughter, spontaneous tales of old. Muted dusk the day after, quiet soles fall on the porch. Snuggle into bed, tucked tight;sweet dreams my child, sleep well, goodnight. cries the… Continue reading Remembering Footsteps