cc licensed ( BY ) flickr photo shared by dok1
In my childhood’s eye,
Where time is slower,
We find it, there, beneath the beech.
No bison skulls, or tumbleweeds,
Like on TV.
No ghost towns, here,
Where we lived.
And yet, our find,
Parked there, for years,
Was too far gone back then,
For us to drive, even in play.
Somehow, more than abandoned,
That it was there
Seemed ominous.
Avoided.
Left.
Decayed.
Ignored.
Were I to venture back,
And look.
I’m sure there would be something left.
More than a memory.
Some story,
some might tell, I guess.
But what, I do not know.
by aforgrave April 16th, 2013.
April is National Poetry Month. Check out budtheteacher ‘s NPM2013 Daily Prompts, and unleash your inner poet!
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