The time machine, itself, was old, <br />compact, yet seemingly vast. <br />It prepared now for the journey <br />The traveler thought would be his last. <br /> <br />Like a ghost in the machine <br />Lights glimmered, dimmed, then flared. <br />The time traveler breathed deeply, <br />nodded that he was prepared. <br /> <br />Back in his distant past he roamed, <br />back, to his childhood home. <br />A vanished place now only seen <br />in creased photos with sepia tones. <br /> <br />But no, the sky a remembered blue, <br />The white clapboarded home <br />The lawn, a rich lush emerald hue <br />and he was not alone. <br /> <br />For at the door his mother stood <br />as she was in her prime. <br />To see her once again was worth <br />all the world and time. <br /> <br />She beckoned him to join her <br />and she hugged her welcomed guest. <br />The traveler whispered “Mother”. <br />as so many have said at their last. <br /> <br />Back in the sterile I.C.U. <br />There were no vital signs. <br />The traveler had a D.N.R. <br />The nurse noted the time.<br /><br />John F. McCullagh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-time-traveler-2/
