This is the song of girls

who pressed themselves close,

and tried to be, my friend.

The softness of hands and

golden sweet lashes, that planted

seeds of memories.

They gave their songs of giggles and

breaths, whose sweet drawn, never to

capture again.

In memory of them and their smiles,

the passing of time reveals just

essence flickering back

of my head, whose scents unique.

Beautiful women who nursed and raised,

but move so slowly for me, the air and

the temperature, the thoughts;

they float on water.

Give them peace with time,

give me one more taste, a tint of

hue, their drawn lyric,

before floating away,

ebbing in slow rhythm.

2010 Barry Comer – http://www.blackcatpoems.com

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