The Wall

 

 

Feral roses in all hues,

atop a broken stone wall,

clinging vines of color,

the way that I recall.

 

Summer days at twelve years old,

held in times embrace,

climb the weeping willow tree,

ever the eternal scapegrace.

 

In fields of buttered flowers,

I gently cupped your face,

between young trembling hands,

a single kiss was placed.

 

Autumn now fades to winter,

lace crystal snowflakes fly,

memories held within my heart,

a kiss that was never goodbye.

 

Stoic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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