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A Long Day
December 13, 2023
Sweat drips off my body as I look up at the bright sun.
The dry air rips through my body slowly weakening me.
Sadness passes over me as it is only 11 o'clock.
The only water is beyond the gate.
Where there is shade from the young tree.
I wish to sit under that tree as I drink from the pump.
Beyond the gate there is hope.
Beyond the gate is paradise.
Beyond the gate is freedom.
Why don’t I just walk through the gate?
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Written about Gate by Owen Gromme, 1927