Is IS
Such a lonely place,
Dark Night of the Soul.
Cross a shaky bridge, then pay
Tolls gouge a bottomless hole.
Such a frightening place.
Detour dizzies, grade's so steep.
Hairpin turns, waste in the way.
Brakes don't work, can't see.
Such a crowded place.
Ghosts created by fate's twists.
Sad and angry, you turn away
The living. All you see is mist.
It is a tortoise's pace place.
More you hurry, slower you go.
All you want is to get to Grace.
But the road appears to be closed.
It is a pass-through kind of place
For those who allow enough time.
Those who say, Just stay in Faith,
Are stuck in the vicinity of Deny?
It is rock and a hard place place,
But it is near Kind and Understanding.
Doubt is a bridge to Faith, so pray.
Alive a good street. Stay off Abandoned.
It is an end-or-beginning place.
Been, don't make me go again.
Know the way out, but just in case,
Think I'll tie a poem at every bend.
If being sentimental is a sign of poor character, I'm in worse trouble than I thought. Case in point: when I detoured into the woods after checking the mail to visit a little cedar that, unable to accept that a backing vehicle had killed it, I had propped up and duct-taped together. And, lo and behold, it had filled out and gained
height. So what did I do? I cried. But it's one of babies, y'know? Of course you do. You are good people!! Love, Pea
