The rustic table
once furnished hearty food,
rough, red wine,
hosted kind,
happy, singing country folk.
Their shadows and footprints
still remain in
dust blown through
an open, broken door
of time past,
and the light
of an extinguished candle
burning in the imagination.
‘of an extinguished candle burning in the imagination.’ ~ Genu Flexed to your genius…Hon’ble Ma’am …it’s my comment… thanks sharing Regards Ms. Nivedita UK 10/10 PS Clicked as MPL
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem Sally, Good how you made me imagine i was stanging in an old house which was full of memories of a ghostly past,10 Wendy. x