Write me prose

Write me prose
With words that slip
Like silver thread
Across my lips

And sound a silken phrase
A timeless thought
A chiming, rhyming lace
That sweetly captures
This sublime existence.

A Friend Called Childhood

A breath

Silent,

and soft



Alerts me

Of

Your presence



You,

A gentle friend

Pass through my doorway



You bring with you

The smell of daisies

Of warm grass…

Where have you been wandering?

This summer day

Your wind-blown locks

Hark back

To sunny pastures,

To sparkling streamlets

In hidden tree-groves.



You wear such a lovely dress;

White, and blue;

I gaze up at you

Like summer’s sky

You move, and

Somewhere inside

I know I’m moving too.



Your hands;

They’re brown and dry

Like pies

We used to make—

Of dirt and water

You’ve been mixing them today,

Haven’t you?

While I have been away…



I’m sorry I can’t join you.

Not today;

I must stay and watch the house

But you, go play -

And come again tomorrow

If your footsteps

Lead you to.



A true friend you’ve been,

A soothing whim

That scampers through the house

When I am lonely



You know I cannot play…

But you visit anyway,

When the walls around me

Feel too close or dim.



One day –

I’ll shut up this old house

If only for a while,

And run with you again

Through that grassy well-known mile

And we’ll nod and say hello,

To the horse across the way

And we’ll softly pet his nose

And the earth beneath will smile

To feel our naked toes

Against her once again.