A Scented Recollection

I’m not too fond of roses

but I have a memory

of the pale pink kind

growing near our kitchen door

and how, on a summer evening

when I took the dog out for

his last pee of the day

that pale pink scent would creep,

wisp-like, around the gable end,

carried on a soft breeze,

and enfold me; and it seemed

in the stillness of that moment,

that a corner of my heart

would be filled

with a sense of peace

Yesterday

mums poem

 

 

 

 

 

Back then

morning was early

and every thing new.

 

There were games to play and tar

melting in the sun

to be picked at

ruining dresses

and shorts.

 

There was no thing fast

or slow;

only now

and this

and some times

next.

 

Every thing mattered

because it was;

the only reason necessary.

 

Back then

there were eight of us

plus two.

 

Now

we are seven.

Precious.

 

Image by http://jeanmcewan.com/