Monday, 12 October 2015

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 place,
Not too far out of town,
Where I’ll go when I 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 2015
http://www.randomactsstories.blogspot.com/

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