It climbs slowly,
creeping secretly in the midnight hours,
raspberry and custard flowers so sweetly scented,
Greek days of long ago,
a Honda 50, a blue rowing boat,
and joyful, flickering images
that stroke my soul
tenderly
a Grandmother's hand stroking
my soul rising to the touch.
I remember to cling
like the honeysuckle.
No comments:
Post a Comment