Posts Tagged ‘treat’


We sometimes now gather, all wrinkled and gray,
And talk of the past that has faded away.
The past that was better, the good days, the old –
And fonder we cherish as farther behold.

There’s nothing that’s better in your mind and mine
Than days in the past when all facets were fine –
When nights were like diamonds and days were like gold,
When we were but youths and unknowing and bold.

We speak of them often; our words glow; we sigh –
Those birds have flown off without saying goodbye.
Migration is not why they’ve flown far away,
For birds gone in winter come back in a day.

The old days have flown to the past, not the south
Existing now only in our mind and mouth.
In first, they’re a treasure; in second, a treat
To all who were with us ere Time seemed so fleet.

Those wheat fields were golden; we glean just the best,
Gloss over the trouble, forgetting the rest.
What matters are mem’ries, the good that survives,
And happy are we with our loves and our lives.

That world now seems perfect without the decay
(No matter the decade, it’s always that way).
In gardens of ignorance, bliss is beget
And now, if we know it, we tend to forget.

So, good friends, my old friends, come by and we’ll sit
In rockers, both smiling, and visit a bit.
And there we will travel and go back in time
To good days, the old days, when life was sublime.


Photo by  Billy Frank Alexander at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dRWHPQ/Grunge+Texture


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.


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The shades are drawn; the light is pale
Upon the yellow wall.
The blades above on ceiling fans
In a tight circle crawl.

Three couples at a table sit,
Close friends like ancient tomes
That have a common history,
And share a common home.

Another place – two grands with kids
Too young to be in class,
Are there to make a memory
That school cannot surpass.

Another table’s strange to me –
Two young girls sit with phones.
Together, they are separate,
Not in each other’s zones.

A single woman sits alone
Like me with my own thought.
I wonder if her money brings
The joy that mine has brought.

The clatter of the cutlery,
The chatter o’er the meal,
The pleasantness of food and drink –
All told, the moment seal.

And I, the bard, am struck by this
That people come to eat,
And oft the food that’s on their plates
Is not the greatest treat.

But in their sharing of their food
And sharing of their time,
They give themselves to those they love
In meals that are sublime.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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