Carrie Richards Poet Free verse

Twilight

It was summertime
I'm not sure of the year
We sat on the front porch steps watching our children play
The sun had disappeared over the trees
The sky shone with hues of purple, pink, and orange
You pointed as a first star appeared
Then reached for my hand
And caressed it with the roughness of your thumb
We never thought to get a camera 
Or to write about this moment in a journal.. 
Something perhaps we should have done...
So that we would never forget 
                            ...such a perfect twilight

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Michaela Payne June 30, 2009 at 4:28 PM Beautiful write, filled with a wonderful recount of a lovely memory. I loved the imagery in this piece, great write! Blessings, ~Michaela~

Brian Strand June 29, 2009 at 12:24 AM These picture stays in our minds Carrie unfaded.Rgds Brian & thanks for your welcome comments to day.

Winter Wallace June 28, 2009 at 5:41 PM thank you for the congratulations, and i really enjoyed this piece. -Kalonji

Daver Austin June 27, 2009 at 1:27 PM Hey, this puts a lump in my throat! You have just the right words to make this a thumper. daver

C. E. Mcmullin June 26, 2009 at 7:06 PM You have already embraced this memory for all time, Dear Carrie- Thank-you for allowing us to spend time in the rooms of your heart!!! poet butterfly

Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen June 26, 2009 at 6:03 PM Carrie, This poem is very sweet. And it makes me think of the twilight years of our lives. I can remember each of my grandmothers saying several times that they should write a book about their lives. I think a lot of people think that, but never do it. And each life is so full of interesting events. I like this poem. Love, Dane

James Marshall Goff June 25, 2009 at 7:46 PM yes, a month ago when I was camping in the boreal forest of northern Mn. w/my daughters, we would look up at the stars at 2am and wonder our place... your memories never perish, outstanding poem!! Carrie, jmg

Hyle Chu June 25, 2009 at 7:16 PM I did this once. In a time when there were more stars at night. It was summertime, and I'm not sure of the year, either. Some things don't go. Even if you hit the delete button. The damn file won't go. Sometimes all it takes is a poem like yours to bring them all back. Shooting stars showered that night.