Waiting

my mother sent me this postcard from Loch Lomond with a note to say - 'Sending you this, no idea why'. :-)

There’s a little house,

Not too far out of town,

Where you’ll go when you leave this place,

You’ll always find a log fire burning there,

And a light in the window to find your way,

When you eventually stumble over the top of the ridge.

You can sit among friends,

By then you’ll be deserving of a seat by the warmth,

You’ll have done your bit,

Struggled bravely along the path,

You’ll have cried your tears,

And fought your battles,

So come rest a while,

We’ll be waiting.

bobby stevenson 2019

http://www.randomactsstories.blogspot.com/