The Picnic By a Lake
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I will remove the dust of time and decay,
in a park by a clear blue lake;
Oh, I have not been to this place of yesterday,
but have heard about it over tea and cake.
It was a Sunday tradition to pile in the car,
I was told in family stories of old;
there was food and grandpa played his guitar,
and grandma said she picked wild marigold.
In a park by a clear blue lake,
I have black and white photos of that place;
when, I look at them my heart does ache.
all those faces smiling I want to embrace.
They all came from here and there for a family picnic,
arriving in those old, old cars so amazing;
you had to arrive early to get your favorite spot pick,
some would lay in the shade or in the sun blazing.
In a park by a clear blue lake,
family would gather to have fun on a summer day;
and in storytelling everyone did partake,
and after would drive home totally happy, tired and gay.
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February 28, 2020
Poetry/Ballad/The Picnic By A Lake
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1231-001-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the contest, Back When
sponsor, Line Gauthier
Third Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2020
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