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Stephen Young Poem
Windy day, Thursday afternoon clouds,
going for a drive, smells like rain.
Sky heavy and blue, searching,
pushing you out of my mind today.
SSHHH! Watch him...
There's a man feeding the ducks!
Hear the lake pressing against the shore,
there's resort living across the way.
Going for a walk, looks like rain,
there's no peace from you today.
SSHHH! See them...
Daisy chain islands in the blue waters.
Puffy green dots along the horizon,
isolated among the shimmering main.
Distant thunder, goosing flesh,
going for a swim, sounds like rain.
SSHHH! Hear me...
Leaving memories on the shore of Thursday afternoon...
Copyright © Stephen Young | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
Stephen Young Poem
Mossy tombstones neatly cracked,
quiet dull and grey.
Old trees grow breaking up,
Amidst this sacred lay.
Leaves old and wrinkled walking,
tumbleweed across my path.
Yellow grass green wild onion,
push up crowded from the past.
Bobbing up from where I look,
chiseled from memory to epitaphs.
Testify the aged ivory markings,
lining a horse carts path.
Sudden warmth exposing shadows,
clouded sunshine stops the day.
Once cold finger trace it's line,
fall to the ground that yellow ray.
This my favorite spot these days,
see those buried years I've yet to pay.
Yet walking hopeful back and forth gaze,
surrounds me comfort from those who got away!
Copyright © Stephen Young | Year Posted 2006
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