One more
closer walk with thee,
a poem’s mile.
A walk we haven’t had
for such a while.
In this line I plant some trees,
and flowers pink to pluck,
perhaps a couple wayward bees,
a yellow smiling duck.
And like a harried architect,
cars sprout from versed streets,
and vintage cars,
for you to muse
back home they’re all compact!
I paint the night
of winter’s chill,
and sound the sea to trill,
a sleeping crash of solemn waves
a breeze for us to feel.
In this poem I hold your hand
and say: you’ll always be my friend
our separate walks continues on
though poem’s trod doth end.

01/20/2013

Posted on 01/20/2013
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