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Monday, February 28, 2011

(part 236) THE MEADOW


my life was
a promise
of everything
with the
reality of
less

decades passed
and piled up like
old timber
in a neglected
meadow
out back

occasionally
someone
stopped by
acting
interested
in the wood

they came by
like the
years and
i always listened...
but they
just talked

that's some
good old
timber there
they'd say…
ever try to
sell it...

i used to
i'd reply...
but don't
anymore
no one
wants to pay

whatta ya want
for it
they'd ask…
nothing
i'd say...
just take it

awhile ago
i looked
and
the old
timber was
still there

like me
it has
learned to
be at home
out back
in the meadow...

Bobby Jameson Feb 28, 2011 edited dec, 2014

1 comment:

  1. That's the great distinction between timber and art; logs, once cut, can rot, but music, once "cut," can continue untarnished forever. I am really pleased that you continue to post your stories, poems, and songs that they might live or live again.
    Tim

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