by Leonard M Hawkes

Yet another March,
And again we will wander in the dark
Down Watery Lane to “take coup”
On old Bloom—

The Air will be wet and tense
With impending storm;
Nervously the wind will whip
The cottonwoods along Box Elder Creek;
The rising water will sing of the snow melt
On Black Pine, in Devil’s Gate--south of Mantua,

And I will be with you:
Lost again in the oldest of forbidden loves,
And wondering still (after so many, many years)
If or what it ever may have meant
To you.


Author's Note: ". . . still memory to a gray haired man . . ."

Posted on 05/30/2013
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Rob Littler on 05/22/14 at 05:14 PM

the exactness of the places, the sense of place as feeling in this poem are so effective against the pang of the memory....

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