Out In The Weeds
Air heavy on lungs,
Clinging to life's next rung.
In mind memories hung,
Baggage about shoulders slung.
Often find self out in the weeds,
Strayed from path now I bleed.
Wonder why I left,
In a place bereft.
About the Author: Brian Bucks lives on a small horse ranch in Western Nebraska and is a husband, father, electrical engineer, and poet.
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