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Bookmarks of Fingerprints
From my rocking chair seat at the window,
I recall childhood memories of cloudless day,
twinge of jealousy strikes me now and then,
daydreaming and watching little egos at play.
Age is fantasy that does not exist for kids;
not as we know it in our adult way, that is;
only their yesterday’s tomorrow matters,
a gift of joyous majesty that gives and gives.
Bookmarks of fingerprints, lips, and noses
of faces pressed on Gram's window; mine.
a nostalgic flood spills over memory's edge
seeing pavement-chalked hopscotch outline.
Denise Marshall Showcase
Bright Light Café, 2003[/font]
[/font]
I recall childhood memories of cloudless day,
twinge of jealousy strikes me now and then,
daydreaming and watching little egos at play.
Age is fantasy that does not exist for kids;
not as we know it in our adult way, that is;
only their yesterday’s tomorrow matters,
a gift of joyous majesty that gives and gives.
Bookmarks of fingerprints, lips, and noses
of faces pressed on Gram's window; mine.
a nostalgic flood spills over memory's edge
seeing pavement-chalked hopscotch outline.
Denise Marshall Showcase
Bright Light Café, 2003[/font]
[/font]
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