Postman

The postman called  early
the sun had hardly shone,
precious thoughts to share,
secrets,dare to tell,
to be read more than once
wisdom foolishness and truth,
the jigsaw that is life.

Look no further than the mirror
its silver back, prevents the view
look behind, is it you ?
The  past  but  dream.
Prick yourself did you feel the pain?
The healing scar and crooked finger,
the wrinkle on your brow, creased
long ago by happy childish laughter
sat on mothers knee proof that memory
is not illusion, things did happen
as your mind remembers.

Forget-me-nots in garden vases,
do they remember, how did they come?
On the feathers of a sparrow
will memory help it return next year?
A book in my lap, thoughts dispersed
six thousand miles, wisdom to read
enters the mind, sharing the joy
that makes life's  bittersweet
and ours to choose.