Memory Lane
So much of beauty has come and gone
and never known its own worth
in farm and field in whitewashed barns
in the raucous music of the rooster.
Poorer are we for the loss of harrow and ax
the woodpile stacked with oak and ash
the balsam pillows stowed in drawers
of quilted blankets and linens bleached.
The not so ordinary loved packed scarf
from scraps of sweater knitted
the braided rugs made from well-worn blankets
and the smell of wood smoke in caste iron.
Reminisce with me of clothes upon a line
and the smell of sunshine on white sheets.
Remember, oh remember the lady slippers
deep within the birch filled wood at mid-day.
All of these have come and gone
mere photos remain pixels without emulsions
slick shadow less, machine stamped hulls
so little of real beauty remains.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
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