A Poem by Peter Rogerson

Idle thoughts after more than fifty years...



Memory wakes me up from time to time,

He pokes me in the ribs in rhyme

And shows me shadows from a past

I thought back then would always last.

He makes me look into her eyes

Those precious orbs that conceal lies,

And touch the softness of her skin

With gentle heartbeats deep within.

He takes me by a wrinkled hand

And shows me that old fashioned land

And then I wonder at the faded skies

When I gaze upon her sleeping eyes

And hold her hair, each wispy tress

Brushing on a long forgotten dress,

And would we do it? Would we dare

In days when careful folk too care?

And then it came, the broken heart,

The sudden drifting far apart,

And now and then I wonder if today

She walks abroad, or passed away...

For has she let the thread of going

Fall to the graveyard without me knowing?

And all that’s left of magic days

Are in the scenes of memory’s plays…

© Peter Rogerson 10.04.20

© 2020 Peter Rogerson

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Added on April 10, 2020
Last Updated on April 10, 2020
Tags: memory


Peter Rogerson
Peter Rogerson

Forest Town, Nottinghamshire, United Kingdom

I am 76 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..