Flying across this land, greeting the coming dawn, Far below a network of highways, Homes, rivers and byways, Cars, trucks, and trains rolling on and on. People down there moving about, specks like ants fretting, Purpose in each, What? Out of reach, Lives, like vines, strands sprouting and spreading. I think of my own people, homes left behind, Covered wagons filled, Treasures of life’s yield, The … Continue reading Lives, Like Vines