Poetry

Written by Ghosts #1

that strange feeling, a void, is it?
lily of the valley, can you still smell it where you are?
61 years of flowers
what is spring now?

too early for stars, too bright
a late summer sky refuses to wear its black dress
61 years of white wine on porches
can I eat grapes still?

fading colours, get my coat on
you read out loud to me, your favorite lines
61 years of cryptic words
I learn to play the piano

branches, blank in december
the potato soup won’t taste like it used to. what is it?
61 years cooking for two
unbearable winter days

I grew a beard, fixed the bathroom window
and when your birthday comes, I’ll try your lemoncake.
61 years plus one
and I won’t leave (yet).

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