Piles of snow all pushed aside,
Little children going down the slide.
A rainbow with its pot of gold,
All of these are stories once told.
So many days have quickly passed,
And he has now grown old.
But the memories will forever last,
Of stories that once were told.
Now as I look through my camera lens,
New stories will unfold.
Someday my children will remember,
Stories that once were told.
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Awe, Cindy, my only complaint is that I wanted more. This poem seems like it ends too soon. Sorry...but I have to be brutally honest once in a while.
:-)
May God bless! Sincerely,
Dan Blankenship
