And then I go outside
and walk around the place.


When I lived there
there was an apple tree
whose branches beckoned me
to climb from time to time.


The windows I can see
and I can tell you everything
about the way it was inside
when I was young.


I try to think of what I thought
when I lived there
and seem unable to assemble
those thoughts I once considered.


I know I didn’t ever think
that some day I’d be old.


Now that I am a rather ancient man
I wonder who I was back then.


I try to find the little boy
who grew up there
and sometimes stir up memories
as I try to grasp the past.


Such thinking does not last
and soon I fall asleep, wondering.

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply