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Pass it on when you’re done


I can smell the sultry smoke

From the lazy log fire

But I’d like to see it curl and climb

Higher and higher.

 

I can feel the silken touch

Of a baby’s chubby cheeks

I’d  like to see expressions change

As she gurgles and shrieks.

 

I can taste the sour and sweet

As they sit tickling on my tongue

I’d like to see the luscious grapes

In tempting clusters hung.

 

I can hear the sound of waves

As they crash against the shore

But I’d like to see the setting sun

Cross the dusky door.

 

So pass them on to one like me

When for you their work is done

And thus from where a story ends

A novel  would have begun.

 

 
3 Comments

Posted by on September 24, 2012 in Poetry

 

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