The Poem I Never Wrote
The Poem I Never Wrote
Is still on my lips
Buried treasure at the time
Now it's a barnacle on the ships side
And with each passing year
It keeps growing and growing
In infamy
In its infancy, some 50 years ago
The stage was set
We were twelve, once
Like two seagulls circling the sea
In harmony
But I didn't have the gull
To hold her hand
Or pass her a love note
No, no
Theres was no poet in me
Or a lion
Only a snail
It tears me to think about it
How our butterflies fluttered
And I didn't catch hers
connie pacheco
10/7/22
Not for contest
... it kept growing and growing, becoming
saltier and saltier
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