Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Memory Lane





In the dry part of summer
That dirt road turned to golden silk
Ribbon running through corn-clover mead
Feeding freedom in its ethereal ilk
Of unnamed destinies pooled in its thread

Bare-feet dashed, splashing
Down lanes to wild apple trees
Where picnic-baskets spilled their simple fare
In gentle childhood memories
And soda-cracker flavored air

They didn’t recognize the wealth
Of moments pressed into its grass
Where cotton-dresses seemed to shrink too fast
Beneath a blue-sky hour-glass
Insistent on replenishing the Past

…and then they grew too tall
To play where only children climb
Time’s endless afternoons without a care
Until the call of suppertime
Wafted on twilight's purple stair

..as they dashed, splashed
Through golden silk of summer shelled
And moth-balled corduroy of outgrown coats
Quite unaware of pens they held
Or little legacies they wrote

© Janet Martin

This poem took me on a sudden breath-stealing trip down memory-lane

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