Counting back to the summer of ’69
It was mid June before I was alive
She rode shotgun, feeling alone
Singing “Lord, I’m 500-miles from home”
Growing up, never really going back where
She hovers nearby, close but not there
Starting over each and every new day
Restless heart, restless feet, cannot stay
Singing victory songs morning, noon, and night
Getting closer, feeling empty, running out of fight
This 50-year prayer – is it worthy of a lifetime prize?
Or will her next stop show up as a blind-sided surprise?