For When I Fold
I want a kitchen that I own every
Poem to be known
I want kisses in the rain
and in the dry
Thunder gently rolling
By,
I want a smile; I want a hand
I want an arm; For when I fold
I want my childhood broken
Toy,
To sweetly mend for
Someones' joy
I want to climb familiar stairs
And sail upon familiar airs,
To run my hand 'long polished
Wood without a thought
For what I
Should.
Be doing with my fading time
'No worries' for the dimming light
A swing, a breeze, "a cuppa, please", a sunset, and
The Coming Tide:
A flock calls in the dawn
of night
The cries, the knowing eyes, the wings, and
Everything—
The Peacrab brings
A memory floats; a leaf in wind
A penny
Whistle,
made of tin.