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Literature Text
We trudge along some Polaroid-colored highway
in a nameless march. Trees spring-green, asphalt blinding.
Up ahead, Grandpa is waiting. Thin, gold sunrays fall around him,
touch the deep green grass, pierce the grand tree he stands under,
abundant with green.
His voice is back.
His face is back,
his arms are open.
He puts one around me, cars muffle.
Despite our hesitance for his age,
his slow, thin body,
he walks on with us.
in a nameless march. Trees spring-green, asphalt blinding.
Up ahead, Grandpa is waiting. Thin, gold sunrays fall around him,
touch the deep green grass, pierce the grand tree he stands under,
abundant with green.
His voice is back.
His face is back,
his arms are open.
He puts one around me, cars muffle.
Despite our hesitance for his age,
his slow, thin body,
he walks on with us.
Comments2
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That's very cool, love the ending lines.