Footsteps echoing in the halls of hidden memories
Gently pushing open a door, I stumble upon a long corridor
I walk past rooms filled with leather-bound treasures
Selecting one volume to view, I fondly turn the well-worn pages
Smells of the mountains in the autumn,
Summer rainstorms,
Hay bales piled high,
I put down this dog-eared friend to seek out a stranger--
Brand new with crisp, white pages
It smells of leather, and paper fresh off the press
The pages are barely marked,
Only the first few show any hint of color
The rest of the memory has not yet been penned

I do not know what the future holds, but I know this:
Flowing from the blank sheets is the song of gentle laughter

10/23/2002

Author's Note: This is for memories, and all the people I've shared them with;)

Posted on 03/15/2003
Copyright © 2024 Stephanie Kent