Lost
The evening air is warm; the sky
ablaze, splashed in hues of scarlet red.
Lost in reverie, she sits on the porch,
on her favourite woven wicker chair.
Absentmindedly, she twirls her finger
round a strand of silver-white long hair,
reminiscing, eyes half closed, hairbrush
resting on her lap beneath a frail hand.
She smiles as images tease her mind,
momentary glimpses of carefree youth
which all too soon disappear, unrecalled,
lost once more in the hazy mists of time...
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5th February, 2016
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2016
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