memories

bluebell close up

Spring pours sunshine
through the woods to dapple
on my polished shoes.

I hear birdsong echo
children’s laughter; green
is a scent, a taste
fresh on my tongue.

(The opening lines of an old poem.)
 

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

3 thoughts on “memories”

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