The Past Grumbles Gracefully

You think about when the leaves

On the trees

Were green.

When the cheeks glowed with red wine

And the fingers

Were weaved.

When the sun made the sunshine

And the lips

Would meet.

When starlight was bright enough

For you two

To see.

And you admired countless

Rough-bark trees,

Leaves green.


You think about when the leaves

On the trees

Turned red.

When hot summer nights felt so

Nicely warm


When thoughts replaced themselves with

Something small

He’d said.

You smile to think of love notes

You’ve written

And read.

The past grumbles gracefully

As you look



About pasameerday

I haven't got a lot of time to keep you interested, so I'll be quick. I'm a writer from the UK, primarily of fantasy and sci-fi short stories, and occasionally of strange, nonsensical poetry. I like cats, the Sims, and pizza, and I go to sleep to the sound of a keyboard. I've been writing for my entire life; to be honest, I don't think I could ever bring myself to stop. I have a feeling I'm losing you, so I'll bring this to an end before you slowly start to back up, hoping I'll stop talking long enough for you to make a quick getaway. Wait... Where are you going? Hey! Wait! ... Stop!!
This entry was posted in Poetry, Writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Give me your Thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s