Skying another off the first, the floozy
high, wide and scantily clad,
destined, graceless, the cover of trees
again, hide and seek, a tease
as brushes the bush, up and under
a different game, but, closing in,
the narrowing gaze
of the man born to disapprove, yet
today, almost forgiving, a twitch?
a smile, not quite, but pigeon steps…
content to allow
their play to flow, follow
its wayward course, chat
to spoil the tranquil greens, laughter
to puncture the air, the simple joys
of walking with friends, family, loves
like the drowning lad saved, maybe
he’s just breathing too,
each breath,
how pleasant is green,
how rich the many shades,
the lingering wet, fresh
cut turf in the breeze,
a tinge bittersweet as recall
names quietly erased, empty, the locker tags,
their pictures on walls, mostly men,
as smile in their prime,
now gathering dust, but enough
now is not that time,
these are the days to be awake
not to walk with fear, but dance
with whichever God you chose

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

By cyncoed

Old & Welsh

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