They Walked Each Other Home

Old Silas, he walked the line. A worn-out coat, a weathered mind.

Days blurred like faded photographs. A lifetime etched in lonely pass. He kicked at

stones, just him and the wind. Where does a broken story begin?

Down by the creek where the willows web low. A sound, just a whimper

soft and slow. A scrawny pup, all ribs and fear. Silas stopped,

wiped a lonesome tear. One eye was shut, fur matted and

brown. The saddest little thing in this whole damn town. Oh-oh,

the dusty roads, they stretch out far. But a small