I thought I’d make it to the foothills
Scorching sand beneath my feet
The treasure that was buried there
Owned my mind since ’70

A dusty wind began to blow
Pulled my scarf around my face
Ten more miles would take me
To that sacred, holy place

My footprints disappeared with
Every lock-step I would take
And though I’d trod a hundred miles
My spirit would not break

Cracked and bleeding lips sought
A cool refreshing stream
Reality kept whispering harshly
“You’ll only find one in a dream”

Then I saw a stately figure
In the distance ‘neath the sun
With one hand raised he motioned
A command: “Keep moving on.”

But my knees began to buckle
As my heart began to pound
But if I died that moment
I knew at least I would be found

Then as quickly as he appeared
I looked and he was gone
Yet remembrance of his raised hand
Well, it kept me moving on

And when I reached the foothills
I found the rock which I had marked
Beneath was a golden locket
With our initials on the heart

© Phyllis Weeks Rogers 11/16/18

Header Photo Credit:



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