Eleven at night

I miss those days with you when we could drift
across the city thinking we would go
around the world. How little we both know.
The summer shyly brought you as a gift
but now the leaves are yellow and morose
and you are gone. I still walk the same streets:
the same cracks in the road, the wooden seats
beside the stream, the parks, the calm repose.
Whatever – it’s history now. The autumn shades
the day with encroaching evening and the trees,
aflame with gold, are crumbling. In springtime
the cherry blooms will kiss you in the glades
and all I will hold are scraps of memories.
Some streets away, some thoughtless church bells chime.


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