We crossed the dry bed where once a brook,

a leftover memory never to return,

chortled as if it was a laughing child

tickled by the guffaw of bubbles.

Although time had changed us and the wood,

our recollections painted in the details.

The birds made no song

but we brought the music of our childhood

and we were rich in the joy of it.

No longer were we three adults but

three kids climbing rocky walls and

shouting into hollow ravines for echoes.

Upon hearing our voices we galloped in wild abandon,

a seeming race with some phantom enemy,

and in our leaping frenzy we were made new.


Brenda Bishop Blakey



Art: BBB

Thanks to the sunday whirl for the words: phantom, brook, rocky, hollow, leaping, dry, although, new, walls, never, birds, wood

9 thoughts on “Echoes

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