Return (March,2020) Poem by DM W

He tells us that Youth doesn't dwell here any more;
That spring no longer knocks on sweet flower strewn doors.
For that abundant time, has long since passed away.
Now there's only the frail echo of former days;
When we played under the blissful sun, moon and stars,
Before we felt the darkness and its mental scars.
O if we could only glimpse, and clutch, a fragment
Of that which went before, we would never lament.