It was a small New England town.
Tiny streets summer homes, and soft
sounds of waves whispered to me.
From my bed room window I could
see ships pass with grace and charm.
A wild wind blew through my life that summer.
Dad died.
He was my own and now gone forever.
The caves of my young heart cried.
Shady reality set in.
Yesterday was over.
A harp played sad tunes as I met a
watchman at the gate.
Tell me, I sighed in a low voice, have
you seen my father?
michele kostelnik
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lost-childhood-2/
