Huddle Round

There are the pride filled and the humble, rich and 'middle'n so'. They pull through here, off the highway's of America. I see it in 'the way they roll'. These are not gypsy's. These are 'entertainment center's' on axles.

The poor, the lame and destitute, are farther down the road. They'll be here...presently. They come, but, all the spaces 'taken up', like the promised land of 'rapture'...for wasn't it said of the middle class, 'thou art chosen Snowbirds'? I don't think so!

It may come a little cold, but God will make a place, in this high snow...for 'his people'. Huddle round, huddle round, ye that love, comfort one the other, of your color, of your sweet propensity to be...no matter what survival say, or the 'punk' with money, in the next pew!

Sing your praises unto life, your 'lamp' to keep the dark away, and always, always love as ye do, and roll where ye will, for I am with you. I am with you, all the way...davilaji.

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: my 'roll', 60 Traveleze