Home
Wind-swept highway,
Tossed about hair,
Grinning from ear to ear,
Wide open sky above.
Smell of fresh cut alfalfa,
Miles of barbed wire and missing posts,
Singing to the hum of tires and radio,
Mile marker 144, exit right.
Going home to the place of love,
Sun will set soon,
Back to the creature comforts,
Place of her heart and safety.
B J Dobry
Copyright 2005.
