Rd 3 of producing poetry prompted by Lilli. ☕️ Jacobs Cronat Gold is brewing! ☕️ |
| Motivated I crested a hill in my trusty car, saw Kansas spread out to horizons so far, and wondered how many had labored to form the interstate highway I now traveled on. Then came a new thought: what ran here before? What route offered drivers a path to Mom's door? A sign triggered memories of this road at home, of old Highway 40 helping travelers to roam. The longer I pondered, the more seemed to part the thick mists of time, before roads got their start. That path, wide and rutted, wandered more or less straight giving structure to those seeking out a new fate. Some had grand plans, while others, like sheep, just plodded along, all but falling asleep. My mind's eye observed the long trains on the move, each full of plain folk hoping life would improve. The rattle of wheels and oft-mended traces, the boredom and dust on trail-weary faces naught could deter them as they worked to cope and keep ever bright the spark of their hope. Prompt / Form Note ▶︎ ![]() ![]() |