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The Wayward Child

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Memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left,
in cold or torrid waves, our spent passion, now abides
for you have left me, long ago, alone now I'm bereft.

Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left
beside a roaring bonfire, where fireflies on night's wind glide;
for you have left me, long ago, alone now I'm bereft.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.

Beside a roaring bonfire, where fireflies on night's wind glide,
we conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief. 
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.

We conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief 
in cold or torrid waves, spent passion, now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.
Memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.


First Published by Wilderness House Literary Review 2013

Copyright © | Year Posted 2015




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Date: 4/28/2015 6:24:00 PM
sad and very descriptive...!! thank you for sharing.. :)!!~olive eloisa
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Date: 4/15/2015 6:38:00 AM
beautifully painted debbie love the imaginary
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Date: 4/14/2015 2:33:00 PM
Creative and expressive work..I can feel the emotion..Thanks for stopping by..Sara
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Date: 4/14/2015 8:29:00 AM
Creative and soulful as if on a child who stole away out of life. U crafted it an awesome style, emotive and sweetly lamenting. Unique indeed. Kudos. Take care. Great to read frm u again.
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Date: 4/13/2015 10:08:00 PM
Sadful write Debbie, how you captivate us with the power of ur words , amazing!
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Date: 4/13/2015 9:27:00 PM
I like how you are sharing these! Sad one... this form is a hard one and you really made it shine! Long day... xoxox
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