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| Sunken Lane |
Along paths of crusty walls
and tangled brambles
Will time be soon left behind?
A path once of stones and dirt
Now displayed a row
Of weeds, all now green and grown.
His footsteps had walked in mud,
Racing and laughing
Youth and friends hooting beside.
From his home, peat smoke once rose,
Fragrant over tall trees,
Brown bread baked on warm stone hearth.
Home now stones, long gone, hearth cold,
Gray rocks on his feet
Reminded him that green never leaves.
Nor will he.
The images from my mind as summer fades makes me long for green. I posted this 5 years ago. We are talking about going to Ireland next spring.
