.
Memories rattle round
Like the old pots and pans
On a wandering tinker’s dray
With an enormous array
Of potions and lotions
And creams galore
Piled up high on the wooden floor
Scents and events long forgot
Bring a knot to my throat
As I drown in the gush and the rush
At last released from the heart of the past
.
©DGA 19 December 2011 06:29
