The Old Gate
Many a place that time leaves behind
Hold memories that never rust
Like the now broken swing where skyward you'd climb
It now creaks as it sways in a windy gust
The old wooden house where you once lived
Held memories of laughter and fun
With beauty from nature derived
Playing where the rivers run
The rustling leaves of the old oak tree
is remembered by those who explored its branches
Now it plays a sentimental melody
As recollections flow without stanches
Impressions may come and go
But in some forgotten corridor of the mind
An image will suddenly show
"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find"
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
