Sitting here in this motel room,
Here for a visit from my new home on the moon,
My thoughts drift ever to you,
They are all about you --
Can't get you on the phone,
And though I'm back to what I thought was home,
I feel very much alone.
Wish I knew how to cope with this,
But all the old-familiars that I was
Sure that I would miss,
Seem so foreign to me now,
I've left them behind,
And somehow left my mind,
Back where home is now.
I miss you already.
December 20, 2008, for Jan.
Copyright © 2008, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.