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memories
michelle king

Memories like gold on a warm summer day,
a tapestry of dreams where love lights the way.
Watching the sun setting over the shore –
we danced then as children
barefoot, wanting more.
 
Hiding from shadows and painting the skies,
cartwheels like windmills where time never flies.
Our paint box of life while waltzing on air,
we danced then as children
on grass, without care.
 
We laughed till we cried in the shade of the trees,
we watched as the rain caught along with the breeze.
When winter sets in or clouds become grey,
we still dance like children – memories that stay.


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  • Writers Against Covid-19
  • Authors
  • Submissions
  • About
  • Contact
  • Cherry Red