My Fondest Memory
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It was July when I watched an elderly man
Lounging on the same bench to gather his thoughts,
As fingers picked worn-out notes…bowing low
Seemingly atoning for his charmed one’s teardrops, done:
In the fringe of nightfall, I began my warm approach
While this stranger rolled on, hoping dreaming
His wife were around… a tired soul in need of love.
Every time I asked why, the old man shrugged,
“ Because, because”--- his voice trailing off
While we counted young stars on flight above…
His face mildly glowed from the sheen
Of moonlight: from his pocket, another letter blew,
Signed by his dear Roselyn, with a litany of praise
For a woman who cherished all their moments
Through rain and silence: how the fondness
In his eyes brought me to embrace
My own tears after my Mama kissed the clouds,
Same month as this… unknowingly,
He buzzed a tune Roselyn and Mom adored,
As if fate allowed us to drench in floats of serendipity.
My Fondest Memory: Frank Herrera 12/14/2016
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2016
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