Poetry
Youth of Our Dreams
Pine scent mixed lemon perfume,
a tree laying sideways rotted
made a chair and footstool
in a place called Waverly.
At the end of her street
we returned to the fire.
In the quiet of the night
branches scratched panes,
laying by the cupboard and sink.
Moonlight flickered thru the glass
shadowed by the great walnut tree
all else still, lest we waken, lest we waken.
Now years later we returned,
remember the youth our dreams
the dreams of our youth.
Scent of the northwest
riddled in pine and citrus memory.