we'd float like two clouds
through the sky all day
from the rising sun
'til its setting ray

the hours would pass
like minutes at play
and all things but us
would just fade away
A billion years is
Time, long or short, depending
On your perspective
A lot can happen in billions of years
Ghosts of the past summer
Linger into late fall
Then most of them move on
To a timeless sleep that never ends
But there are some really old ghosts
That come back every spring
Just as the snow melts and
Before things get green
To recall the people they once loved
And the places they once knew
Sensed them on my morning walk
Scattered, gray-white clouds
Bygone summer days recall
Drifting north to south
January flash
We hear winter thunder boom
First time in our lives
Just a few minutes ago
John Niederbuhl Dec 2017
Huge, white clouds that drift,
Stately, shifting, rounded shapes
Recall younger days
John Niederbuhl Dec 2017
Soft shapes touch a child's finger,
Memories of their sweetness linger--
Helping grandma roll the dough
In her kitchen long ago.

I like the shape your cookies take
When they spread out as they bake,
Like the changing shapes of crowds,
Melting snow or summer clouds.

Oven-hot and placed on racks,
Lined up , lying on their backs,
Coming from a single batch,
But none of them a perfect match.

Toll house cookies, soft, convex,
Each perfection, like the next:
Chocolate chips their surface grace--
Freckles on a child's face.

Pecan ball aren't perfect spheres,
But they're gentle little dears:
Bottoms flat, sides dented slightly,
With white sugar sprinkled lightly.

Sugar cookies cold days cheer,
Shaped like angles and reindeer
Glazed with frosting sweet and white,
Decked with sprinkles all delight.  

Santa's Whiskers, coconut rolled,
Long fat logs of sugared dough,
Cut in portions smooth and round,
Pecan bits, cherries abound.  

Molasses crinkles' faces lined
Like old men's--the friendly kind--
With lines like back roads on a map,
Dunked in milk before a nap.

Oatmeal cookies, shapes amorphous
Juicy raisins budge enormous,
Semi-blobs, their texture rough,
Sometimes packed with nuts and stuff.

So many cookies through our life,
Since we became husband and wife,
In their sweet aroma and taste
Years rushed by like cars in a race.

Looking at their shapes diverse
Reminds me of our love at first:
We weren't sure just where we'd go
And all we had was cookie dough.
For my wife, who was born this time of year
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