It’s a road to nowhere

some would say,

stretching far beyond the horizon.

A dusty passage

through ancestral lands

once tilled by long ago kin.

Down that road to nowhere

lies a land that once was

of babies, and dreams,

isolation, despair,

delight, ardent hope,

that always gave more

than it took.

Souls alongside the road

rest in crumbling tombs…

the brave and the righteous,

farmers and heroes,

their wives and their children,

their blood in my veins.

On a road to nowhere,

amid a vast sea of crops,

lies a blink on the map,

worthless to most,

but it’s the precious place

my heart calls home.

Michelle Close Mills ©