What a strange evening,
I was playing bridge,
Playing bridge with friends.
We played once a month
This time it was in our house.
We sat down and played,
Enjoyed our games,
Had some wine,
Had some eats.
But it was a strange evening
As this evening
In our house,
It was quiet.
There was no music playing,
There is always music playing,
Playing in our house,
But tonight it was silent,
Such a strange evening.
-
Author:
Goldfinch60 (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 9th, 2019 02:05
- Comment from author about the poem: It is so strange not to have music playing in our house.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments5
Bridge over troubled water it seems Andy.
Ex animo, Alan
It certainly seemed to be Alan.
A thoughtful write Gold.
I was in the film 'A bridge too far'. Not the war film, the lesser-known one, where people crossed a bridge to reach me, to hear me sing. It was subtitled 'Forbidden Journey!' heehee.
I remember fleeing from that film in horror.
Yet it plays in our head nonetheless! Great stuff
All the time Dan, all the time.
*BRIDGES BRIDGE GAPS*
ANGELA HERE - Thanks for sharing UNCLE ANDY - In all our LIVES there are things we take for garanted - things - sounds - sights - scents ................ And then - ONE DAY - they*re no longer there ! And LIFE is never the same again .............. SHALOM ! Love the COOL JAZZ !
Blessings & Peace to YOU & JOYCE
Love ANGELA & BRIAN 🧡💙🧡💙🧡
Please check *PETS SIX HAIKU*
We sure do Angela. Many things we only think about when they have gone.
Your miss of music dear Andy shows in this poem. Despite friends and bridge you would be relieved to switch on some music once the evening was over.
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