For some, letting go is as easy as untying a bow on the back of a summer dress
Letting the strings softly slip through their fingers
Feeling the cotton threads and whispering goodbye

The field is filled with hazy summer light and nostalgic perfumes
She licks the wine off her fingertips
And smiles at him with a grin that hints of cinnamon

They lay among the fireflies and junebugs
Minds in faraway places
Hearts anywhere but here

She can hold the sadness that fills his eyes
In the palms of her hands
But she cannot keep it

He tells her that she reminds him of gossamer
She twirls her hair in knots
He touches the strap of her dress

Kicking pine cones , hands in pockets with my favorite scarf on ..
Outfitted like a business man with something important to decide ,
a lawyer testing a juries intellect , like an important subversive agent with a clandestine government ...
Walking the fence line , dressed to save the world someday , my flashy duds turning heads , yet their only clothes , and clothes never did make the man so they say !
Fancy leather gloves , gold cuff links , cashmere sweater with well planned schemes ..
Upscale hero with a prominent address , four star restaurants , high end assets ..
Caviar and red wine , penthouse vista .. Fancy cigars and first class tickets ..
I'm still Cocoa Cola , cheese and crackers , homemade biscuits ..
Forever overalls , laying hens and sour mash whiskey ..

Sometimes, a laugh
can also be a cry.

Sometimes people want to live and some of them want to die.

Sometimes we have to lie in order to survive, even though it's not right.

Sometimes, a beautiful person can be ugly if their attitude worsens.

Sometimes, getting advice isn't going to affect you right.

Sometimes, we gotta learn from whats right and what's wrong.

Sometimes, we didn't know that we're brave and strong.
Othertimes, we managed to hold on,  but throughout life, we should  carry on.

Counting boxcars as they hurdle down the tracks , one for every memory I can summon , one for every penny I've placed at this crossing for good luck ..
A copper token to insure good fortune , the wheels of a child's imagination set into motion ..
Walking the railway , dreaming of life as a " Hobo " , with my cane over my shoulder and a bag of apples tied to one end ...
Racing home at Dusk with the last glimmer of daylight at my feet , the five thirty special thunders through this small town again ..
Bound for points South , Montgomery or Mobile , breaking the quiet of night marching through corn , soybean and cotton field ...
The deafening sound of order and morning routine in sleepy Southern villages , a wake -up call for little boys with skinned up knees , ball caps and ***** britches ...

As the train pulled away
a strikingly familiar note
filled the air
and you were part of me

a part that let
the better version of us live
and yet could keep us whole

the distance settled
in a light precipitation
drenching gray into the day

as I lost sight of the train
and walked back
three miles into a memory
to mark the last page
in our story
the page we failed