Might Have Been

It's a dream. That's all, one that grows
Indistinct in the unlovely light of a cold
Autumn day. You were with me, weren't
You? We marched through the city,
Conquerors, stopping for croissants
And coffee, assessing the merits of Frans
Hals and Degas... And laughing, the part
Of the dream I most cherish, the part
Most eroded away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 93 times
Written on 2019-11-13 at 20:53

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