Monday, December 7, 2015

Anne Tibbitts writes

Buried Treasure

Sleeping easy in the big backseat

While dad drives down curves,

Mom reads maps fumblingly

Blue sky hangs low, puffs

On edge at 6:00 a.m. steam

Upwards from a red thermos cup

Chill blows from Dad’s cracked window,

Floats to backseat, underneath a quilt

Where a heart lies open for the taking

Chill flows to that little girl

Hovered under a quilt in the backseat,

Going down a mountain road

Dreams of collecting shells

Or finding buried treasure

Still hanging loosely in the sleepy dawn


1 comment:

  1. I enjoyed the 'trip' with you....a wonderful piece, thank you Anne...


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