By the side of the road of life
I sit quietly
and look from right to left.
The vehicles of memory rush past,
voices from the past whisper in the dust.

I try to see what is yet to come,
but the horizon
hangs like a veil between hope and knowing.

In my hands
rests the weight of longing-
not for grand things,
but for gentleness
in the curves of time.

And I hope
that the prospect,
the future,
will be kind to me.

A thought,
like a bird,
briefly landing
then flying on.