Between the Lines

A frizzled faded note pad, Half torn, wrinkled, stained, Names, numbers, appointments, Such a worthy document, Deserving its own glass cage, In a museum of fine art; The history of a family’s, Most profound secrets, Hidden between the lines.

“Mom I’m at Joey’s” “Mom I went with Kathy to band practice” “Anybody get home early, there’s leftovers in the fridge,” Love Mom.

All were endless notes of care; One day . . . the final “Goodbye”, ‘Twas the day the note pad died; The secrets between the lines . . . ? They survived.

BOBBY WALTER LEWELLEN

www.countryboyjustme.com