Late Harvest in Progress
I remember her tasting
of hand-worn
and warmed pennies ..
Looking like
late autumn sunshine
and carrying
the scent of old apples
all about her ..
Indeed, it seemed to me
then, she may
well have overwintered
and spoke not as
an old lover, but a friend ..
I also seem
to recall her once saying ..
Dear Neville,
don’t you ever dare fall
in love with me,
so of course, that’s exactly
what I then,
in my youth proceeded to do ..
-
Author:
Neville (
Offline) - Published: May 16th, 2026 06:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange

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Comments4
Ah, isn't that always the case in that set of circumstances. Young love can't be told what to do or how to feel 🕊️🙏
Absolutely, I found that out a very long time ago .. Thanks for the thumbs up arqios .. Neville 😎👍
What a lovely story telling set in musty images that seem faded as is the past. It is worn to fit and feels comfortable as an old friend framed in nostalgia of past bad choices that molded what we now are. Lovely my friend a fave
Cheers my friend .. Neville
A toast to you my friend
Beautifully written, your story captures a moment of vulnerability and self-awareness as you reflect on the consequences of falling in love despite warnings, thereby exploring the universal experience of love and memory.
I don't know how you do it but you hit the write spot every single time you pass by .. Bless you dear poet .. Neville 😎🌻👍
You're very welcome, Neville. I think it has to do with my upbringing; my grandparents were both MDs, and I used to ask billions of questions. How they knew what their patients were talking about, they said they listened very carefully - words speak louder than their expressions. And what they're trying to say is that some patients can't spit it out, but you need to listen. So, since I cannot see you or hear you talk, I can read your words, then process them and continue processing them. Being a hypersensitive person and an empath, it comes naturally for me. So, I was always told I spend more time diagnosing words than I do other things.
Neville, this has such a lovely mature tenderness to it. Memory, aging, friendship, attraction, nostalgia, and quiet regret all mingle together beneath those wonderfully textured sensory details. And that final turn lands with perfect human honesty. Beautiful piece, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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