by Richard L. Provencher
3/09/2012 / Poetry
is a shamble of forgotten shapes
struggling for balance
among an unkempt pasture.
The old home weather-ravaged
fallen timbers a sanctuary for
mice and other furry creatures
sliver of sky peeking through the
last dusty window pane
with apple trees and pussy
willows pouting aside the river bank.
This leftover scene an album
of reminiscing. As children
we swam Muddy Creek chased
cows and fed our pigs
minding free-range chickens
helping momma and poppa busy
with chores. Then grew
into city folk a long time ago.
Richard L. Provencher
All messages for Richard or Esther can be sent directly to: richardprov2@gmail.com. They enjoy reading comments on their work. Readers are welcome to visit their website at: www.wsprog.com/rp/. Free downloads also available. They live in Truro, Nova Scotia. Canada. Blessings for your loved ones
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