for some reason
I've kept all the shells
we gathered
along
the shore, kept them
lying on the table,
under the light,
white and golden,
some with a silver
shine, black streaked,
flecks of red.
each different.
it's hard to throw them
away, as each good
memory is
of a loved one.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment