Poem
By Esther
Mon, 27 May 2013
- 503 reads
2 comments
Records spin consistently in our home
then back to tight, light rows.
Elvis or Buddy get him humming
away from car boot finds.
My feet stay warm and toasty
as clock sings out her time
and parish church sings loud
for those who still seek god.
A6 tarmac lifts again
as engines tumble on
to supermarket in town
with corner shop no more.
Flat packed homes and mobile phones
noisy kids search everywhere
for love in distant places
whilst telly dishes out the fodder.
Yet no-one knows the day
when love will go away
or when the clock stops dead
and dreams are tucked away.
Love still sings in autumn bursts
when golden fields and fallen fruit
leave tastes of yesterday
with hopes of love to follow.
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