A poem for spring, a delightful detour from the norm, another exercise in the fantasyland of my own imagination on a windy day.
Where lanes are bright with flowers
and the smell of spring is in the air
Young Donnie ran to dazzle
and kiss the girls with cherry red lips
and golden hair.
No love as light as Don’s
who gave his heart at will
who walked hand in hand
with many a young lady
who shared many a rustic orgy on a moonlight hill
Somehow time has slipped away
slowly flowing in the hourglass of time
the girls still come out at night to play
but now when the dusk is humming
Old Donnie hears them coming
and he just turns and runs away.
Have a great weekend.
“If you feel that growing old is a really a bummer … Stop and consider all of those unlucky souls that did not make it this far.”