The Wayside

Over the years some were carefully carried tied up in tiny bundles held tight against the heart While the other more awkward ones were pulled behind in a cart like so many precious parcels taken along for the ride But a few fell and rolled astray off by the wayside along the way Some were missed right away with heartaches and tears While others were eventually missed after some years And some not noticed at all I see people now and then rummaging around by the wayside for what they've lost- Some with long, sharp sticks poking, prodding absentmindedly collecting debris Some on hands and knees with brush and trowel excavating so carefully... but- Most of the time the wayside is no place for happy reunions Often what was lost if it was, indeed, of value at all will not still be there after some years but snatched up and carried away with care, by another who saw its worth Or degraded past the point of repair until what was lost can never be recaptured or replaced Or sometimes what was 'lost' simply wasn't worth keeping in the first place but purposefully discarded cast off like old garments too uncomfortable to wear Relationships too heavy to bear tainted by disrespect dishonesty, neglect subtle streams of unkindness ever-so-slightly visible envy marking their faces like red flags But the idea of something having been lost is powerful, and nags at our hearts 'til we forget- these things and their cost yes, we forget- Most of the time the wayside is no place for happy reunions