I hate to see the sun go down

the summer park, 

your gold hair flying with laughter

and that straight smile.

 

I’ll pack tomorrow

if you want.

 

Holding your scared hand,

Linda,  I always thought

I knew love

in jeans.

 

Not the ash left over

but the sea

that beats the shore

sands in passion.

 

Dave Barber

Early Blues

24 Oct 08

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