Flutterbies Believing in tiny winged creatures Climbing tress with scrapped knees Memories of an Oregonian summer Where evergreen streets line Pages of books recalled decades later The sky smelled of salt and sea I think the ocean was near I was young, not even a teen Playing make believe in my sister’s home And the call of a boy “Come out and play, we’ll climb these Arborous trails Fancy ourselves a house Out of sticks and things We can set flowers in the windowsill” These moments flutter by In my mind, like the butterflies Across that imaginary windowsill Fleeting and rare But all the while, still there
Posted on: Fri, 04 Oct 2013 21:25:31 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015