PlaygroundA Poem by Spencer Barker
The youngest of three,
which was it that would climb the tree? The softest of wind cascades, the rusting of rungs, the time and place but in strong. The red ripe of the slide stood in morning sun. What a day to remember. © 2016 Spencer Barker |
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Added on March 25, 2016 Last Updated on March 26, 2016 Tags: Playground, Love, Childhood, Poetry, Writing, Micro-poetry Author
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