Memory is a funny thing,
Like the misty mountain meadow
Where you kissed me that one spring.
Were the mountains soft magenta
As they appear now in my dreams?
Did the flowers glitter with dewdrops
Fresh from a fluttering rain?
Or was it a patch of blackened grass
In a dirty city park,
Where my ears rang forever
After a lucky shot?
I just don’t know what to believe;
It’s hard to be objective.
I wish you were still around
To compare our recollections.
Image from Lovethispic.
Poetry form: free verse.
Written for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt.
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