She passed the trunks - now grey and silent -
of trees that once gave shelter on a summer day
when in the prime of love they went this way
and sudden rain under these trees them led.
The trees still were the same - but different
without the foliage that had formed the roof.
Instead a golden carpet at their roots gave proof
of changing seasons and of times long dead.
Passing the trunks she did not hesitate,
her paces even and her look unbent,
untouched her mind about that past event
when she was following the well known lane
in thoughts of daily tasks, her feelings straight.
Only a faint remembrance told her of joy,
which changing times for long could not destroy,
flickering through her body - to remain.
© I. Beddies
Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Irene Beddies.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 03.04.2016.