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Rain on the windshield is misted and fine,
a bit like the memory that flows through my mind.
The click of the wipers is setting the beat.
Moving along on Everywhere Street.

It's been a long time travel, since I was a child.
I still hear the voices so dear to me then.
I remember the tears, and cherish the smiles.
Moving on through the mist of the rain once again.

Can't remember the dates, or name all the faces.
I can picture the scenes as they pass in my mind.
I'm still gathering snapshots of people and places,
to add to my Album of Time.

The small towns we pass through, are postcard scenes;
a church and a courthouse and a neighbor cafe.
I know they are full of young ones with dreams,
and seasoned souls who recall a past day.

Night's coming on in the slow rainy mist.
Headlights and stoplights, in stage-light style,
gleam for a moment, and fade with a swish,
down through the years and over the miles.

The click of the wipers, the motor's low drone,
offer a cadence for a lone poet's rhyme.
I gather the snapshots to carry them home,
to save in my Album of Time.

( © 2003 - "Future Folk" Music - Betty J. Curtis )