by Richard Vince

One more kiss goodbye, and then
These minutes are hers. These
Precious, misty morning minutes
That can be enjoyed and still
Pass slowly.

A wistful melody plays in her head
As she counts the steps from
School gate to bus stop. Being able
To do nothing is a rare pleasure
To be savoured.

Then the bus takes her up the hill
Into town, back into the world
Of expectation and responsibility,
And it is as if those minutes
Were just a dream.


Posted on 01/12/2012
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristine Briese on 01/14/12 at 08:20 PM

Minutes like that are often taken for granted; I see a lesson here. Lovely.

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