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Valdemar (Val) R Wake, click
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by Bonnie Milani
Piquant Short Stories and Succulent Poems
by G. Roscoe
Recalling the past
Dwindling now beyond the waves
Carelessly the time passes by
Gently felt this brief interlude
Thinking of my memories past.
Was it not an hour ago?
Or then again a century hence.
Sitting, smoking, laughing, crying
And drift the memories always meant.
Meaning what they ask you why?
Do the memories find this pride,
Sadly you look and hope
But the autumn leaves turn brown and die.
Distant things of happy childhood
Bright and merry plays the toys
Loudly strikes the large tin drum
The pendulum swings regularly by.
Knocking down the thin veiled castles
Marching to its stirring beat
Making men of snivilling nappies
Must it mean the memories lost?
Lost or found what can one hope?
Looking for the morning clear
Waiting for a sign of membrance
This will mean that I am here.
Meaning meant of memories distant
As the waters drfit on out
Mightly the tide does gather
And smashes me upon the shore.
Copyright Val Wake 2009
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