Beach Creek - Poem by John Sarvay
Flanked by the weary march of entangled apple trees
the narrow road was nothing if not summer,
and as elastic as creosote caressed
by the sapping of the sun.
That was when adults got lost in thought,
children in a fan-cast clutch of dust;
when the dog got lost beneath the porch,
and the water was flat as oil.
I ache to wrap myself in mud daubers,
honeysuckle and bramble; to hurl
shells and bones from the bank. I ache
to catch my family almost at ease.
Comments about Beach Creek by John Sarvay
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye