Friday, May 30, 2008


Where pass the ones we loved?
Their memory must slip
across our each horizon,
become a foreign land

where we may voyage no more.
And should we glimpse some sail
across a misted gulf,
ask not what harbor

it seeks, what lands of gold
and innocence lie there.
They are not for us;
no, not any longer.

Stephen Brooke ©2008

Yep, I finally wrote something new. Just a little poem thingy...they do pop out every now n again. Off to Perry tomorrow, goof off here on Sunday. Monday is too far in the future to think about!

1 comment:

Bob said...

Reeeeally nice, Steve... I like this one a lot.