No matter how far we go,
Our baggage always seems to follow.
Trailing ever so slowly behind..
And then when we find somewhere we are content,
And we stop to catch our breath,
It creeps up into our wake,
Filling us with sorrow as deep and dark as a big swamp lake.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
No matter how far we go,
Our baggage always seems to follow.
Trailing ever so slowly behind..
And then when we find somewhere we are content,
And we stop to catch our breath,
It creeps up into our wake,
Filling us with sorrow as deep and dark as a big swamp lake.
Request permission to use this poem