When the Evening Calls
Racing street lights, hear the siren call.
Way out past the swing bridge, newspaper on your floor.
Bound by intermission so young it's hard to care.
These residents of teardrops stray north to lame somewhere.
Down the steps I've wandered in and out of summer shade,
Staking talk and memory
In the dim light of my dreams.
Copyright © Lily Radcliffe | Year Posted 2015
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