Poem -

Sunday School Afternoons

Don’t you think it’s funny
how we each cling
to certain familiar things ..
The sweet scent
of old saw mills in forests
and the subtle hit
of wildflower and cottage
gardens on the way
to nowhere in particular ..
Except for maybe,
a surprise roadside picnic
with the folks
and grandparents on those
amazing carefree
and always sunny Sunday
afternoons that we
once used to love so much
before the return
 journey homeward bound
in Dads old green van ..
Not to mention
the sound of all those clear
freshwater rivers
where the grayling could be
found and spawned,
year after year and the crazy
idea every single thing
would sooner or later be perfect ..

 

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