Assurance | Death | Life | Perspective | Poetry

WHERE I WALK
Where I walk —
to come and back again
to our little Buford home,
I see what every walker sees,
life and death,
death and life.
Death struts and swaggers,
proud and sure,
while life is tentative, demure,
She doesn’t push or shove,
she’s just here and there,
and quietly everywhere. From “It Had Better Be True”