Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Robert Verdon, #395, sunlight tickles dust

pensive dust

an old classroom in

an old memory

haunts me like a book

because it is me

cones on a bough

trickle thought treacle

dust sunlight tickles

cycle sky through green sunglasses on a bright blue day

distant violin on a street

I have never been

where those children I would have loved

to play with but never knew at

that age lived

in another century

maybe in Paris

where I have never been

where I cannot go

not that Paris

hooks and sickles of dust

not ever


  1. Such an interesting premise here, Robbie, of time travel, memory and loss.

  2. thanks, Magdalena, maybe because yet another year is coming to an end


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