On days of leisure
Spent in solitude
On cracking benches
And wooden fences
I think of old pleasures,
Attempting to measure,
Or trying to treasure,
What's gone.
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Author:
benevolentbluebabe (
Offline) - Published: July 1st, 2020 09:06
- Comment from author about the poem: We often make more of something than it really was...
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Bragee
Offline)
Comments3
I like it.
On sunshiney days when the gameball is in your hands the past is nothing except that it brought you here.
In the moment things always seem better.
In reflection without our the love action sensory details many memories turn to “bleh”.
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