When we are cosmic dust
blowing through the universe
blowing through the universe
and memories of us fade
like colours in a Polaroid
you can pick up your guitar and know
your parents gave you a gift
no one could take away
NOTE: The poet would like to acknowledge The Press in whose pages this poem first appeared.
NOTE: The poet would like to acknowledge The Press in whose pages this poem first appeared.
No comments:
Post a Comment