in the chilly air
of November
, I run my hand
over my cold
window pane
, allowing my
fingertips to
taste the
sweet savour
of a forgotten
childhood .
where my
footsteps
would match
those of a tiny
boy , as we both
dig our feet in
the covered
field , happy
to leave some
sort of marks
, even if they were
only temporary,
since we were too
small to create
something that
could last forever.
we would race
each other to our
favourite spot ,
wherein our
only friend reside
, with a light
bump we would
greet it , and in
response it would
shake its leafy
arms , sending
snowflakes
to float into the
sky before they
rest gently on
our heads like
beautiful crowns .
YOU ARE READING
Dried petals
Poetry"and I find myself tucking your smile in the space that lies between every letter .for babe , if I can't keep you by my side ,then I'll lock you in each poem these hands write down ."_Aya Highest rank #43 in poetry on 23/7/2017 .
