Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Driftwood

Drifting,
a piece tree,
discarded,
in the grip of a turbulent sea.

Taken
in the current's chosen direction
without effort
on my part.


Drifting
beneath the hot sun
of endless days,
baking me dry.

Listening
to a gentle voice on the sandy beach.
One who does not tire
of saying, "Follow me".



copyright 2017 - Donald P James Jr


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