Green Poem by Ian Keenan
Green
Elvis is the clock face
by my bed,
near the leaf glazed and sculpted
by my son’s
making years ago.
I love green,
old statuettes looking somewhat Dutch and droll,
like my parents,
and the green pepper shaker and
hair brush relics
of my first home,
bits of families,
joined only by memory
and my heart’s yearning.
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/19/2024 11:22:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
