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Sunday MemoriesHe sat here every Sunday, fishing pole in hand. At a quite little lake, with daydreams that are grand. Lost in long gone memories, A smile comes to his face. Of a girl from long ago, he met here at this place. The sun reflects her warmth, her face seen upon the lake. The caressing of the wind, still makes his body quake. The flowers bare her scent, blue skies portray her eyes. Its here upon this moss laid ground, he heard his lovers cries. If only he could go back, still with him she would be. Back then he wasn't ready, So, he let his love fly free. He's never here to catch a fish, just memories that linger on. Of the love he lost so long ago, before trudging home alone. by...Debbie Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem |
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