adventures in dysthymia

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

In Common, a poem

In Common

We never carried through
on that marriage thing,
never had to weigh
the transmutated metals

of our being against
each other. What have we now
in common save the fallen
leaves of another season,

time passed and not returned?
Better to grow apart,
apart, remembering
it was not always so.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

Very much of a quickie. I could see using that 'grow apart, apart' phrase in a song  and just might so do.

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