The fountain had a slow stream that was running free, <br />water sparkled as it flowed into the palm of the hand. <br />A father of time, sat reading an almanac at the table, <br />as the hour glass slowly dropped grains of white sand. <br />The old porch swing, swung back and forth in the breeze, <br />pushing care free in the spring air, in one of the four winds. <br />The sign was an article of faith that expresses God’s work, <br />the art was a symbol of the past, reflecting now and then. <br /> <br />In the distance was a whisper, then a whistle of a loud <br />sound of the freight train, running on the train tracks. <br />Lost in his thoughts, running in the fields, little by little, <br />losing his location, leaving behind a reality of his facts. <br />Reverberating through the hollow and the river bend, <br /> what direction the sound may go, only nature will hear. <br />The heart seems to be running back to the country and <br />was set free, whose name it was calling, seemed so near.<br /><br />Johanna Fields<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/running-free/
