My place
The place I go to
it’s always there
as real as it can be
its real to me.
Somewhere near but a map will never show
It’s a house
a pond beside
and trees large and green
a winding path
a shady porch.
Not in a town but nearby
its quite most of the day.
I'll find it I know
and when I do
it will be my time.
Stephen Gospage
Tue 15th Mar 2022 16:42
A very touching poem, Bill. Thanks.