Love is it?
Love what is love?
Is it a handbag, or glove?
Is it that certain look you wear?
At that certain time?
Is it the turn in the year?
Is it a sign?
And can we buy it?
And will we leave it all behind?
In the things shed
The skin surface of things
As they appear?
Will they dissapear?
Into the turn in the year
The being alone too much?
and the crowd who will see them
So many loves?
Do we even count them, know them?
Next year we will have forgotten
The first line of the song
That showered them in rain
And yet that first smile
Of your first love
Is still here
Standing in the shadows
Shedding light
[...] Read more
poem by Yvette Smith
Added by Poetry Lover
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