It's nice to hear the sun,
When the days begun.
The sense of taste,
Is like our English weather.
It never seems to disappear,
And stays in our minds forever.

Remembering the scents,
Of a flowers first bloom.
As it drifts through the air.
Or the scent of my first love,
As she glide's around the room.

To remember rain drops,
Snowdrops and other things.
To feel the warm air breeze,
Or the first touch of spring.
The joy of remembering,
All those wonderful things.

Poetry by Alan J Ripley The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 36 times
Written on 2024-03-21 at 00:27

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