Bus Trip


Its taken this long to

To learn to run the race

with verdant degrees of success, to

be proud to cross the finish line

I’m not a spring chicken

Nor a dead duck,63 isn’t old

But trust me it isn’t young

I’m still sore from Saturday

Carrying boxes up and down the

Steps fell twice, hit my head

And broke a plate and a glass

There’s more to this than

Meets the verbal eye,cries

And whispers will never

Pass these lips and playing

Cards with the faces showing

Is not a game,its a tell





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