NOSTALGIA
Still lingering the memories
of sylvan days when I was young.
The crumbling coast, the gnawing waves
whose height and boldness intercept
the distant vistas in the mist.
The notes of unknown songs
sung loud from shrubs and trees
that lean across a purling stream.
The gentle rain on nether growth
where sparkling droplets shine
and fall on fertile soil.
A ripening sun incarnadined
that streaks across a morning sky
and brings the warmth of day.
For these are memories I still hold
and hope to see again
before I die.
Michael Edwards © February