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The mood was bittersweet and lyrical.
The birds sang evening almost every day.
My dress was yellow as the paling sun.
Wind whispered of us to the Queen Anne's lace.
You held my hand lest I should slip away
Into the hollows of lost memory.
The fireflies danced our song through country fields.
I still recall how summer lit your face.
I wrote your poem in my storybook.
It lingers in the landscapes of my mind.
Although my sentiments did not match yours,
There never was another boy called Ben.
With Affection for a summer friend of long ago
Copyright,2008, Sandra Fowler
Sandra Fowler
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