LOOKING FOR LINDA
on the highways of the heart
I drive myself back
after twenty absent years
over hard packed Long Island sand.
Here in this peaceful pine grove
my past crashes through the silence
to echo from these solemn stones
and it is good to be back
among old friends and neighbors.
The road surrounds three ovals
and in the third I find her name
on the unsuspecting granite
each letter chiseled on my heart.
Here I fall and weep
tell her how sorry I am
and carefully place the roses…
the ones I have carried,
clenched tight
for nineteen years.
Richard G. Beyer
on the highways of the heart
I drive myself back
after twenty absent years
over hard packed Long Island sand.
Here in this peaceful pine grove
my past crashes through the silence
to echo from these solemn stones
and it is good to be back
among old friends and neighbors.
The road surrounds three ovals
and in the third I find her name
on the unsuspecting granite
each letter chiseled on my heart.
Here I fall and weep
tell her how sorry I am
and carefully place the roses…
the ones I have carried,
clenched tight
for nineteen years.
Richard G. Beyer
LOOKING FOR LINDA
on the highways of the heart
I drive myself back
after twenty absent years
over hard packed Long Island sand.
Here in this peaceful pine grove
my past crashes through the silence
to echo from these solemn stones
and it is good to be back
among old friends and neighbors.
The road surrounds three ovals
and in the third I find her name
on the unsuspecting granite
each letter chiseled on my heart.
Here I fall and weep
tell her how sorry I am
and carefully place the roses…
the ones I have carried,
clenched tight
for nineteen years.
Richard G. Beyer
on the highways of the heart
I drive myself back
after twenty absent years
over hard packed Long Island sand.
Here in this peaceful pine grove
my past crashes through the silence
to echo from these solemn stones
and it is good to be back
among old friends and neighbors.
The road surrounds three ovals
and in the third I find her name
on the unsuspecting granite
each letter chiseled on my heart.
Here I fall and weep
tell her how sorry I am
and carefully place the roses…
the ones I have carried,
clenched tight
for nineteen years.
Richard G. Beyer
