Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2019
The brittle voice of your footsteps on grass
under heavy winds drag
would have went amiss,
but I listened for this
as assurance
our pace still kept in step
crossing the blanket of green
between the trail
of one conversation's lull
and the delicate start
of the next.
grumpy thumb
Written by
grumpy thumb
Please log in to view and add comments on poems