The haunt of the bending wind
Wanders that little path
Of echoes left behind
In living’s aftermath
The hush of the snow-bent pine
Frames childhood’s carefree kiss
We trampled; un-bereft of Time
And its fleet-fingered bliss
The still of midnight’s deep
Bends softly to my thought
Little good it does to weep
For days which now are not
The haunt of the bending wind
Roams life's season-swept wild
Tuning soft whispers in my mind
Of when I was a child
© Janet Martin
Yesterday we spent the afternoon watching a slide-show of photos from my mother and her parent's childhood/youth days, as my mother reminisced! It was keen reminder of the change rendered by time and how some things never change.
Yesterday we spent the afternoon watching a slide-show of photos from my mother and her parent's childhood/youth days, as my mother reminisced! It was keen reminder of the change rendered by time and how some things never change.
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