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Rhubarb
My appetites are not so strong as they used to be.
My passions are somewhat removed from me.
My dreams are sleeping elusively...in the past.
I wonder sometimes just when things changed,
through all these years of loss and gain.
I suspect that this is simply another frame,
in the storyboard of my life.
But, if I look closely I can see her,
that restless child, whose curiosity ran wild.
She sleeps somewhere deep inside me,
occasionally poking about to guide me.
God, I hope she always reminds me...
that we're only here for a while.
With her, I run with sweet abandon,
as nature stirs my soul.
We eat rhubarb dipped in sugar, catch fireflies,
and maneuver, the grass between our toes.
In this place we are never, cold, or old, or told...
what to do.
If you play fair, I'll introduce her to you.
I can so relate!
those who forget their youth are easy to spot. They have aged well before their time and sound like grumpy old men............I found no fault in the least with this poem. Sincerely, Melissa Lundeen.
Hi Geneva. I knew you would write again, patience pays off.
This poem starts off maudlin, mellow-reflective. I think we all get that way sometimes. I'm glad you found the inner strength to find the spark of youth inside and share it with us.
I bet you run with sweet abandon more often than you so wistfully infer in this poem ...:)
Ken
My Secret River