| Poetry |
"The only hint of what once was..."
These old hills, dales and plains
echo with the past.
A reminiscent memory,
a distant nostalgia.
A longing for what is dead and gone,
never fulfilled.
Times pass, the seasons change, yet the memory remains.
The old park, gone.
The only hint of what once was an old swing set,
spending its long nights and cold winters in exile.
Abandoned,
but not forgotten.
Just a nuisance to the city developers,
yet to us they echo our childhood,
sharing the happy memories,
and shrieking the unpleasant.
A silent witness,
a place where we grew up,
where we shared our youth.
Those long summer days,
gone with the wind.
Now that I am grown up,
too old to play on swings;
I can only remember those days,
for a great part of them was lost,
caressed with rust.
That old empty shell the only hint of what once was.
These old hills, dales and plains
echo with the past.
A reminiscent memory,
a distant nostalgia.
A longing for what is dead and gone,
never fulfilled.
Times pass, the seasons change, yet the memory remains.
The old park, gone.
The only hint of what once was an old swing set,
spending its long nights and cold winters in exile.
Abandoned,
but not forgotten.
Just a nuisance to the city developers,
yet to us they echo our childhood,
sharing the happy memories,
and shrieking the unpleasant.
A silent witness,
a place where we grew up,
where we shared our youth.
Those long summer days,
gone with the wind.
Now that I am grown up,
too old to play on swings;
I can only remember those days,
for a great part of them was lost,
caressed with rust.
That old empty shell the only hint of what once was.
by Ryan Sagert
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