Long Story Short

In the distance, underneath a searing haze,
A little town, a railroad track, an elevator
And a steeple poking up above its trees,
A line of faded clapboard houses on a quiet,
Buckled street, and, in one house among
Them, someone sitting. She was dear to me,
But said I shouldn't come again, so, from
This distance, sorrow, and a poem on a page.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2011-07-21 at 19:18

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