020 – Lonely Lightening Welk

Through the childhood fog of time
I can see the beaches
Littered with best natural mobile homes
Shells of all shapes and sizes
Were snatched from the white sands
And deposited into overflowing yellow pales
While shrieks of glee pierced the air
Barefoot and aged
I am lucky if I find one in tact
And those children’s yells
Near me at the beach
They no longer sound like harps and angels
Did I get old and the world change
Did we take too many when we were young
Or was my imagination just fresh and untarnished

Robert Lloyd
1 September 2017

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s