A Missing Youth
By ice rivers
Mon, 03 Aug 2020
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1 comments
Plaid waves without the wailing,
motor boat sailing,
water circles weaving,
summer starts to fall,
the laughing love we cry for,
the living lights we die for,
shine for bells and freedom,
when we dream of going home.
A town within a city,
a pride, a fall, a pity,
in the ice warm moonlight,
under stars of glass.
We stroll between the street lamps,
midst memories and leg cramps,
heading for the white church,
our youth spent in the field.
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One feels like this sometimes
One feels like this sometimes, especially when you are young, and that feels like an eternity ago.
That mis-spent youth. Keep well Jerry, Tom
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