Washed out
As the last of tears fill wine glasses to brim
Waves of wind chime each.
Like icicles they hang in fresh breezed air
Before dropping and shattering
Against cold marble floor.
Enough to create rivers
With crash and roar
Memories are swept
From coastline shore
Long were those days
And few are they now
Left only clouds
And a sweet mountain dew.
© 2015 Lewis McDonnell
© 2015 Lewis McDonnell
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