The park

My park is small
And I’ve only been there
My special park.
A seat or two
And a disused
A large tree
And sunshine.
The park that witnessed
A special moment
In time.
Sticky toffee apple
Dancing Autumn leaves
And trying to write
A few meaningful
All history led
To that time
That place.
Everything since
Grows from it;
The narrow neck
Of an hourglass.
In the park.

Thanks to Tory for inspiring this post.

About Rosalie Squires

'Who am I?' is a question whose answer keeps evolving, that can be answered in many, many ways; that has no known answer at all. But there are some clues to be found: stocksharpsquires.wordpress.
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2 Responses to The park

  1. I think this is a particularly lovely poem. It took me back to my childhood! Thank you.

  2. torimcrae says:

    Love the poem. I especially liked the part, “Sticky toffee apple. Dancing Autumn leaves”. I can smell the toffee and see the leaves. I’d love to find out more about this park and your experience there. BTW, thanks for liking my post about History: Boring or Alive.

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