Dandelions Overgrown
Not far from the city
nestled in tall grass
dandelions overgrown:
a red brick farmhouse
wants to speak,
"Here I stand,
no one knows
that I exist.”
Pictures hang on
walls - buried with
a silent web of
weeds.
A mask of mystery
until one spring
my Master left
an open
door.
No one claimed
my gifts.
Nor have I given
them the
right.
I'm broken down,
but, I'm alive,
drinking tea - on
cold, winter nights.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
DID YOU EVER WONDER WHAT BROUGHT YOU HERE?
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