PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

On mornings cool, we used to walk.

Beneath a sky so new, so wide,

A heart so young...

no sorrow there, no hurt or pain,

just curiosity, overflowing, like small puddles over-filled by rain.

Honest smiles, untouched by life and unweathered.

Again I hope to play, to walk in gardens and hear those songs,

To hear her singing, to hear her talk.

Of frogs, of bees, of birds, of wasps.

Of what makes the winters cold, the summer so hot.

But yet, it so distant, so far from today.

Mornings of walking in gardens, and puddles filled by rain.