Vagabond

~

you asked me once if 

anything still mattered,

if anything still rubbed

me up the wrong way,

true, there was a time

I still had one or two

sharp edges, a scab to

pick at now and then,

a running sore to worry,

strong opinions that bled

me dry and left me pale,

but somehow without 

knowing I was on a ride

I gently hit the buffers

and the first thing I see

is your serene face

that without a word says,

‘Well done, you got here 

in the end’

*

© GRS 02/26