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Dragged out my old pictures,
fortunately–not too many.
Brought back many memories,
without even one thin penny.
Scanning took its time,
reformatting did too.
Sweating hours at the computer,
stuck in the desert of Timbuktu.
I was a medium drink of water,
way back then, iron man.
Drank no water for years,
no sweat, no where, no when.
Traveled many a path alone,
no way to picture this.
Miles in the hot sun,
surviving on the bliss.
And wonders I did see,
much of the Land of the Free,
and wonders of the World,
that before me unfurled.
Scant pictures that remain,
bear testimony to my quest,
to seek out the world,
leaving behind the rest.
I mourn not the loss,
for my memory is still clear,
of all the sights and wonders,
that I still hold so dear.
And so I sweat and wonder,
drinking gallons at her order.
What pictures I would share,
if still that drink of water.
Picture the Egyptian pyramids,
in the dusty setting sun.
Picture a Lake Tahoe ski slope,
Sonny's very own death run.
Picture the Hindenburg’s last flight.
Herb Morrison gave me one,
he took at a Newark airport,
before he recorded her done.
Picture the streets of Dhaka,
a thousand lanterns swinging free.
The romantic peace of night,
in a heart breaking place to be.
Picture an erupting volcano,
and shaky ground beneath.
A jungle full of cacophony sounds,
in green Guatemalan relief.
Just a taste of the pictures,
taken only in my mind so free,
So why do I have to reformat these,
for just the family tree?
To sweat or not to sweat,
that's just the way the picture be.
Copyright 2011 © Ronald W Hull
4/9/11
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Regis
Be well,
Christine