Heather Harwood Design

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The Ride Home

Lightning bugs like shooting stars
Soft wind thick with nightflower perfume
A thousand stories ride behind far away headlights
Black trees hold hands with black sky
My son, rose petal lips pursed, sleeps limply, silently
I carry him home
His innocence, trust, beauty
The tremendousness of these fills my chest
And my heart is full and serene as the night