The Wall
The Wall
Feral roses in all hues
atop a broken stone wall
clinging vines of color
the way that I recall.
Summer days at twelve years old
held in times embrace
climb the weeping willow tree
ever the eternal scapegrace.
In fields of buttered flowers
I gently cupped your face
between young trembling hands
a single kiss was placed.
Autumn now fades to winter
lace crystal snowflakes fly
memories held within my heart
a kiss that never was goodbye.
Stephen (Stoic)
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