My Cross
My parents fed me from the bread of life
I ate each day until I had my fill
They both worked hard so they could pay the price
And taught me not to lie and not to steal
One day I packed my bag and picked a road
With suitcase full of values gifted me
And let me tell you they are quite a load
I dragged them up a hill so I could see
Looking 'cross the valley of the shadows
I saw the place that I would like to go
A garden on the hill, past the meadow
My bag became my cross, my heavy load
Their souls have been ingrained into this cross
It's up to me to carry it across
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
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