on a golden afternoon.

Mere solitude upon my hill,
cannot keep these thoughts from spill.
My hesitation lost through pen;
the words of children, fears of men.

How can a little girl, so alive,
make me feel so dead inside?
Her purest heart and gilded day,
will be lost in words I can’t portray.

All fantasies, she does believe,
for everything is as she perceives.
If I could live by tales alone,
some happiness I may have known.

She sees the world as I once did,
the solemn tears and sadness hid,
but now I see it as I should,
a bitter soul’s lost childhood.

Oh, how it must feel to grin at will,
or place lilies upon the window sill.
Whenever shall I find my golden ‘noon?
Never, I grew up too soon.

8.9.2004

I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then. – Lewis Carroll

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6 thoughts on “on a golden afternoon.

  1. This one is awesome–definitely jealous 😉 I wrote a small essay on this once. If distilled to a poem it would come across along the same lines, though probably could never top this–it’s excellent!

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