By Andrew R. Duckworth
There is a place I go to in my mind,
A large park along the riverside,
Where old men play chess and birds are fed
By familiar faces inside my head.
But I often wonder what would be
If the birds aren’t fed so graciously
By those who no one else can find
Because they live inside my mind.
The Writings of Andrew R. Duckworth 
Ran into your Dad at the Dr.’s office. He shared your website so I could read some of your work. Loved the tribute to your grandparents.
Look forward to reading the rest.
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