Some memories are indeed precious.

Ah, the nursing home. Let us hope that when we reach that state that will have enough memory left to fill in the gaps between naps. Wonderful to imagine, though.

Ron

Hi Odin, Nice poem. When I saw the title I of course came along expecting something like W.C.W.'s wheelbarrow poem. But you're far too original a voice for mere imitation. Nope. This one is all yours and very fine. We push our dump trucks along, adding and subtracting loads, oiling those persistently squeaky wheels. A nursing home is many things to many folks, from warehouse to a place of quiet contemplation or a last ditch attempt at socialization. We'd all prefer to be just visitors, I'm sure, but it's often a reality waiting a little ways down the road. And we're pushing our little trucks along that road every day. Well done. I haven't been on this site for some time but it seemed like a good day for a change of pace. Take care. Thank you.
jim

Memories of childhood are the best, are they not...? Too bad you don't still have that little red truck, it would likely be worth a great deal nowadays...e

the memories are the best
budd