(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' Mine

There were three of us
that summer

you me &
that funny Mr. Hitler

all coming
together

perfectly poised
in our trajectory

as if it were
our destiny.

For us there would never be
another summer

storm clouds
gathering on an horizon

rooks rising angrily into the air

you fading into
memory

yellowing photographs
in which you never age.

Mr Hitler
and his Charlie Chaplin moustache

nothing but a page
in a history book

you
never coming back

me forever
going back

to a point
in time

when I could call you
mine...mine!

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Comments (2)

Intresting poem. Thsd the jest of it not total clear to me.
Nice👍👍I like it😃😃