It is not that they haunt me, those buried by the Platte north of Denver,
I don’t know most of them, the sixty seven thousand.
I have heard of a few, read about fewer,
But I grieve their lush trees and lawns have been allowed to dry
and blow away…dush to dust…
And so it is
“Enter when you will, take what you need, leave something of yourself when you go” I have a friend I met over a bottle of scotch in a Brandywine Valley bed & breakfast some odd years ago who travels constantly and widely, sending me bits and pieces of the world as he goes. Each picture […]
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