Friday, 25 July 2008

Friday 5

The words:


The old trellis,
its roses and clematis long dead,
the once dignified appearence
now shabby with the neighbor
lady's laundry hanging
over the top; to the youngster,
the boy with the black hair,
he saw not the look
or any such defect, but
an adventure,
a place to play
and a place
to dream.


tumblewords said...

LOL I guess it's not surprising that our thoughts lead us in the same direction - it's about the words! Yours is very descriptive and well-written!!

Michelle Johnson said...

Your poem reminds me of how children like playing in cardboard boxes instead of with their real toys. What adventures one can find while in that box. Wonderful post. Have a nice day.

one more believer said...

oh, that's so playful.... a most enjoyable response to the prmopt