Easy Come...


Easy Come…
I remember Sundays
In between dishes
And The Times:
Listening at the sink 
To the pages he turns 
To sort out his place
In the news of the hour
From the unexplained
Terror of the day before. 
Her voice playful and
Templeton's paws
Marking the clock
With barks and jumps. 
A piano sonata like
A curtain between me
And the knowing that
Comes through memory
Kissing reality unto death. 
Yes, life
Has a way
Of getting in the
Way of living
When grace after meals
Is the miracle.
 Easy go...

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Thank you as well

Dear Sombre,
We are truly humbled that you had chosen to share your work with us. I personally love your poem and I'm looking forward reading more.
Best wishes!


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