The dam here is taller than me, but hard to tell it is there. The surf below was deafening, but waters receded as fast as they rose.
I wondered how many lived there per acre
When I see homes left behind I often wonder about the families who once lived there. They decorated for holidays, and celebrated the lives of many. When it came time to paint, was it an extended decision what color to use? Was this a first home, where it was a castle for the first time owners? Now it sits empty, a sad waste of a once nice home.
Gravity can be tough on a building
Flocks flying overhead tell me spring is near.
I travel this road and think I may be part of a continued Marty Robbins song.
I wonder if they only took on traffic accidents
A perfect place to live?