IT was summer of 1976, The Bicentennial year of America (USA) that I walked the tarmac at Walker’s Key Bahamas with Janie’s Crazy Salt in my back pocket. Growing from the grass that lined the tarmac were wild tomatoes. Plucking a few and salting them, we gobbled the delightful little mattoe’s up. Oh, those were warm kind and innocent days, so it seems now.
Some wandered forty years
A tribe of nomads seeking, something unknown.
Wanting desperately the milk and honey
And finding the desert of dried bones.
Hot the sun it burned me
In the summers continuous
Sweltering thirst in this parched land
Thickened tongues will lap
The freshness of the cool waters
And napping in cool grass
Longing greatly for comforts
Seeking what I had not.
Then dreaming came a messenger
Speaking of the land in my heart
And wanting the land I longed for
Lived in the caves from the start.
And as simply as longing for water
Could just prey the designs as smart.
Then no longer wander the desert
But my shoes will follow my part.
Amazed, stand I, looking down
Seeing the sparkly red shoes
And The Land
flowing with Milk and Honey
Right at the end of my toes.