If She Calls... Poem by Ian Bowen
If She Calls...
If she calls
tell her I am out walking
my favourite fields;
that go as far
as the forest edge.
She will know where it is.
She will remember
the crushed grass 'neath
many a lifted double blanket.
Maybe she can still taste
the Champagne
from a crystal glass
and recall the heat haze
of pollen dusted days.
If she calls
tell her I will wait
on my single blanket
close to the forest edge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/26/2024 5:39:22 AM # 1.0.0.1119
