Poetry

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In the evening still of a summer's day,
As I quietly ponder things,
My memory brings
On its fleeting wings,
Recollections of a child at play.

There's the musty smell of discarded shoes,
The soft humming of the bees;
It's so sweet to flee
To tranquility
Where my heart can fondly muse.

The remembering brings some heartfelt tears
For a mum I've never known,
And my heart still groans
For a child alone,
Even after all the years.

In the evening still of a summer's day,
I return from my sojourn;
Though her shoes are gone,
Part of me still longs
For that childhood place of play.

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