In the City (poem by me)

Sometimes I think of our old flat 
where we lived in the city;
Wood floors, wood doors, and an antique stove,
peeling wallpaper and a deathtrap terrace;
But there we shared our first kiss
And ghosts from the past came for a visit.

Sometimes I think of our old park 
where we used to go
with old architecture,
the bright flowers arranged just so,
Funny I can't remember 
the way to get back
to our old park in the city.

I wish I'd complained less
and spent more time
enjoying young love
and living on our last dime the city.

Behold, what I have seen to be good and fitting is to eat and 
drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one 
toils under the sun the few days of his life that God has 
given him, for this is his lot. —Ecclesiastes 5:18

© 2016 Kim Bond

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