A Young Summer
Quietly floating between clouds of our past,
longing for a smile, a laugh,
drifting past memories
hung on my mind’s wall.
Quietly feeling the art,
echoing in the hall.
A mom’s distant voice,
her soft touch on young skin,
as ice cream churns
in summer winds.
Crickets, trees, breeze
sing with the sun
as shadows grow long,
as her time comes.
- william goynes