The morning after hostilities ceased
Our home could no longer contain
The memories we had made there
During the black out
And the years of hopeless waiting,
Even the wind moved on tip toe
Through the rooms and hallway,
And the tick of the clock had muffled itself somehow.
Afraid to make a noise, we played hop scotch in the
street,
Awkwardly balancing on cold bare feet.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
August 20th. - September 7th. 2022.
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