Oh the years,
the years that stream by,
if I could but pause you in your
course,
if I could rename your momentum
I would hold you to my breast
like a small hurt kitten or a
soft candle,
I would read you slowly like a
love note
to my entire life painted here
in
Autumn’s unfinished watercolors.
J. Pratt-Walter (c) 2020
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