Gary Edward Geraci

White Washed Sepulcher

childhood joy,

can you remember

those fond, childhood joys?

backseat window watching,

your own reflection, one of elation:


multiple mounds of green hills,

brindled black cattle grazing,

traversing, scenery sweeping by and

swiftly; fields afar while lightning strikes far off,

but yes, too far for my concern.


then a red barn and

a towering white silo of some sorts,

slowly passes nestled peacefully.

swift streams splashing,

over shiny rocks teasing


the road by darting toward

her and then away from her

and then under her.

a crowded family car of seven.

yet You accompanied me


then as You

accompany me now

and You too remember my

joy, that joy, and You’re calling

me back to it, now.


Gary Edward Geraci