Days Of Glory Have Not Gone

Poem By peter rodenby

recall a golden sun,
blue sky,
broad breaths,
careless clouds,
sand dunes
wild grass
head high
where we walked.
Tassel stalks,
topped seeds,
in short trouser pockets,
locked in a laugh.
Sandy beach,
for families,
bouncing ball.
Discarded ankle socks
Splintered shells
Drumming waves,
white wash foam,
sea spread
sandwich Sundays.
My mother sits
sail skirted
prepares sandy tea.
My father, sleeping,
lying back
in golden rest,
white handkerchief,
four corners tied,
make-shift sun hat,
days of glory are not gone.

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