Years have seasons, and so do weeks and days; flavors, baseball cards of life, something to collect and cherish. I’ve running up and down the road. Sometimes I shake the dust from my hair and feel weary. Others I remember what it is we all get to do every day: reach out, shake a hand, and smile at our neighbor.
A Sunday Poem on Saturday
A Sunday Poem on Saturday
A Sunday Poem on Saturday
Years have seasons, and so do weeks and days; flavors, baseball cards of life, something to collect and cherish. I’ve running up and down the road. Sometimes I shake the dust from my hair and feel weary. Others I remember what it is we all get to do every day: reach out, shake a hand, and smile at our neighbor.