It was late for a visit. I opened the door
And outside was standing my own language.
My old friend had traveled places I had not been.
Well don’t be a stranger I said. Come in.
You’re the one outside, said the voice of my language.
And I was, and I came on in, not sorry I was late.
I so love where you take me in a poem like this! Wonderful! Speaks to my soul 🙏
I want to keep reading and rereading this, to hear my voice coming home…………
Reblogged this on O at the Edges and commented:
“You’re the one outside, said the voice of my language.” Yes!
My pleasure, Jeff.
I’ve come late to this.
Can I just say that its brilliant……