There is a pleasant aroma winging,
Colorful birds are singing,
and the robust bees are buzzing all day.
My companion and I walk slowly together
in the humidity of the hot weather
to the chapel in the vale where we used to pray.
There lie the remains of childhood wishes,
and the tantalizing wind now swishes
at the tattered door the years have left to decay.
All the oak benches now lie broken-
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: religion