Comment on this article

by Mary Flynn

Ahh, so very long ago,
and yet I see it still 
that little table in the breezeway,
our favorite. Remember?
How silly to think you could.

Ancient Botticino stone at our feet,
and overhead a fuchsia bough 
the scent of sweet wisteria
that would have to last a lifetime.
Mine, not yours.

Beyond us, the glistening waters
of the Tyrrhenian Sea,
as yet undefiled. Waiting.

How apropos, the weeping fig.


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]