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Sights and Travelers
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The Ones I Call Poetry My mother is a sight,
And my father is a traveler,
Mix the two in a small pot,
And you have aimless wanderers,
No rock for stability,
Besides the ones we find,
A lack of strength and security,
Just a tear in each eye,
Where is my hero,
Where is my model,
Why can't he visit,
In all of his travels,
A sweet sight to behold,
My mother always was,
Strength, beauty, grace,
A tower of love,
Travelers can travel,
That's all they'll ever be,
But sights were meant to behold,
And some stay near me.
