Time (1)
For him, time was a mere succession of milk bottles,
He'd sit and watch the summer passing him by
on the backs of pretty young things
still wrapped in cotton.
His wife died.
He decided to have the front door repainted.
He remembered her red hair.
Copyright © Gavin Lockey | Year Posted 2007
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment