Dordogne August 7th

 

 

Dawn arrives,

stiff breeze,

 

growling of the

traffic

 

old olive

stands sentinel:

 

beached, as I am

by fate’s fickle

 

finger.

 

Swallow’s swoop

the pool line

 

memories

creep in

 

you & I

so young,

 

the children

at our feet.

 

Did we ever

dream of

 

this?

 

Palms wave;

the house

 

sleeps,,

 

but I,

still alive

 

leap from

tangled sleep

 

to salute

how we lived

 

& loved here.

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