At Henry’s House
A handful of people in 17 acres;
a couple of dogs OD’ing on smells.
New sunlight poking through
old twisted branches. Familiar
path, soft and quiet underfoot,
welcomes me in with
no questions asked, takes
the cares from my shoulders
and hangs them up for a while.
2 thoughts on "At Henry’s House"
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Nice Larry
sounds like a home for the soul:
no questions asked
“old sunlight poking through/old twisted branches” Love these lines! This poem welcomed me in like an old friend.