it's times like these -
you know, the ones that have me
down, again, on my knees -
when I wish that my small hand
was held firmly in your big one;
so that you could help me
look both ways, and
remember everything that I see;
so that you could offer
a second choice -
usually better -
and that if I'm caught
in a deluge, that you could
help dry me, so that all I
suffer is being a little wetter;
so that the path
from here to there
was a little clearer,
a little nearer, and
taking it wasn't so filled
with fear;
it's times like these -
you know, the ones that loom
so high and dark around me,
that I sometimes fail,
as I sit and wail,
"oh, what is to become of me?" -
when I wish you were
here, all around me.
August 13, 2011.
Copyright © 2011, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
