On The Edge of Then

On the edge of then, 
In the spring of hope,
Came a set of eyes,
And a heart to match,

With some torn-up shoes,
And a bit of rope
‘Round some plastic swings
By a wide green patch,

In the big backyard
that a farm kid knows:
with its hills and grass,
with its curves and bends,
far away from noise,
and strife, and crime,
and all the distractions
of having friends.

If I go back there,
In my heart or mind,
There is no now,
Or then, or time,

Just the feeling left
Of the wind’s caress,
And a world so full,
But of emptiness,

In the big backyard
that a farm kid knows:
with its hills and grass,
with its curves and bends,
far away from noise,
and strife, and crime,
and all the distractions of
having

friends

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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