Treasure

My daughter gave me rocks,

two tiny hunks of stone,

& these silly little trinkets

remind me of my home.

My home was never mine

when I think about it now.

I was looking down the line

to softer, greener ground.

I wish I'd stopped to play,

those far-off days ago,

& quit fretting 'bout the way

I'd ought to work and go.

But so the seasons change,

the autumn dies of cold,

and all that now remains:

two tiny hunks of stone;

two little bits of gravel

so daddy's not alone.