©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson
His spirit crawls a lowly road
with little will to rise.
Leaves falling from the trees reprise
tears falling from his eyes.
Shoe leather, laced with mud and muck,
greets shadows on the wall.
The trap once set, now cruelly sprung,
yields no escape at all.
An ill wind blows no body good,
and sometimes life just blows.
Could be that he comes out all right,
could be all wrong. Who knows?
Balloon man, can you spare the fare?
One magic taxi ride.
A free lift for a sorry soul,
jumpstart to the bright side.