grow in the mind,
their rhymes chiming endlessly
with the sound of feet walking
or rain falling or being taken up
by garden birds, one line at a time.
Landmarks, favourite stones,
reminders of moments
that only history makes important,
we hum them down to immortality
so that now they fence us in
with the faces of lost opportunities,
and all the moons and Junes that ever were
are meadow-larking above England.
Old is always appreciated and missed for its simplicity and purity. Nice poem and Thanks for sharing.
Simply superb poem relating to every one's experience and a reiteration that old is gold. Thanks for sharing it here.
a poem that sounds to improbable to be true? nice write though.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Reminds me of the song THE OLD SONG sung by both DAVID POMERANZ and BARRY MANILOW+++++++++++