Poetry

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What is it then i hope to find,some locked up image inside my mind,is there such a thing as a spirit of place,a visit once mind
don't erase,a dream of course is not the same,an outside step of
a house remain,a vibrant place no clock can steal;its owner surely
gone to Heaven;BY GOD'S OWN GRACE,i pass it down a day,or week;
and wonder if its Spirit keep,little feet went in,and out each day,a house and smallish shop it may,some groceries it could give away,for seventy years and more i would say,for all fresh faced
youngsters it was a happy take away;a place of greet,now it can speak;somehow Life's Spirit is always now.
Joe.

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