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Melancholy
Sensory reveries float feathery,
Softly, through my summary treasuries.
There are flashes, small splashes
that wander in random dashes
between my head and heart.
Some precious memory stashes
often break dark and apart.
I will feed on photo books
hoping repair requires but a look.
It often ends with me shook
by a bittersweet sharp dart
and the smart of its hook.
As I age, I feel little doubt
time neither shouts or pouts,
but sprouts all feelings once jolly
to cultivate seeds of melancholy.
Copyright ©
CayCay Jennings
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