Oft, she wondered where it went to —
Naive tender girlish fun —
Days of sweetness filled her life then
Now those days are over. Done.
Soft, at night, she years the rumble
Of the heater – or the past —
Memories float in like bubbles
But the feelings do not last —
There’s a mother’s heart that’s beating
Strongly still within her breast:
Only broken shells of memory
Here within this
Vacant
Nest
Holy cow!
Thanks… I think?
Yeah!
She “years” the mumble or “hears” the mumble?
I am curious about your word choice. Is it intentional or a typo?
I continue to enjoy your structure and lyrical rhythm.
Deliberate. And thanks.
Thank you for sharing your beautiful photos and amazing poetry. A pleasure to read your work.
Thank you sir.
You are welcome.
My wife misses our girls being young so much that its palpable. Now we have a grandson, and that seems to be a whole other thing completely.
Thanks, Merry.