Wednesday, March 7, 2018

Lowlands


Going past the lines of trees in the low lands
Single thought comes across my mind
It was the day we gently held hands 
With no word or meaning to find

The crunch of snow in blue sky morning
We laughed at whatever each said
Then by noon with each of us leaving
A farewell kiss put this love to bed


A woodland dream
A lake of steam
The silent answer
A field of corn
A love forlorn
The hidden cancer
And in the end
You were my friend
The pretty dancer

In the long lines of trees in the low lands
My soul refreshed with memories
It was as if I could feel your hands 
I never thanked you for the stories.

by Dave Schipper (c) 2018 Rose Riversongs.


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