Calling Me

For Larry's Campfire

The autumn breeze whispers my name
as I walk down Turnberry Street.
Nothing will ever be the same,
since I followed my heart's beat.

Stopping to pluck a red rose,
a breeze whips through my hair.
The prickly leaves tickle my nose.
I pause, and can only stare.

So much beauty on Turnberry Street,
I think as I walk along.
Flashing a smile to others I meet,
it's here I know I belong.