Thursday, July 7, 2011

Valley of Soft Things

We used to picnic there,
in the bloom of our youth,
and dream right out loud
of a valley of soft things.

In those days we sat sidled
on the hard stony bench
looking together ahead –
we used to picnic there.

All we had, then, was ahead
and together and dreams so loud
we had to whisper their names,
in the bloom of our youth.

Sometimes, aheads turn misty,
burn away in the hot of afternoons;
sometimes, softs turn hard
and dreams get so loud.

We used to picnic there
on that cold stone bench
and whisper the dearest names
for our valley of soft things.

Words & Pictures anthology that the LBCC poetry club participated in - April 2011

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