Game Of Cribbage Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Game Of Cribbage
Pure joy flows thru the sweet night
Half moon in the pines
Your memory has many rivers
You are here now like a spring flower
Age is in time but the soul is love
We gather wood for the fire
Crickets in the late summer sing
We bought this cabin decades ago
We are still here and in love
The river still runs free below
The screen porch looks the same
Shall we play a game of cribbage?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/10/2024 6:12:47 PM # 1.0.0.1119
