Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2013
There are loves that are inseparable,
loves that never leave.
Loves that can define us
This much I do believe.
I remember well my own first “love”.
A Love I brought to bed.
I brought along a flashlight too
To discern the words Love said.
When all my family was asleep
from my pillow I’d retrieve
My treasure from the Library
And I’d begin to read.
That was my first chapter book,
A mystery, I recall.
Of all the words I’ve read or writ
It was the start of all.
I like to find that book again
and hold in one more time.-
and in the touch and smell of it
Recall a simpler time.
In my case it was  "The Mystery of the Wooden Indian" by Elizabeth Holness in 1958
John F McCullagh
Written by
John F McCullagh  63/M/NY
(63/M/NY)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems