Cold midwinter Scotland my father takes my hand in his towards the chapel. Blackshawled widows bless themselves passing the stations of the cross. Old men pray holding rosary beads heads down on the wooden pews. When it's all done we throw snowballs at each other such fun a little memory pressed into my heart.
Michael Cochrane ©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A BEAUTIFUL memory and I hope you have more