What I would Bring

A snapdragon waft of early morning dew,
resting senses of honeysuckle too.

A day spent frolicking in the Sun,
a moment passing, having fun.

Oh these things a pleasure trove,
of love and life and sweet memory,
To God these things, all mine, I owe,
Yet I, myself, am but history.

What of he from long ago,
who smelled the succulent rose,
his body lies in newborn dust,
not even a remnant nose.

Oh Lord, if I could but one thing bring,
from this life of sensory luxury,
Could it be such a childish thing,
As a Rhyme or Mother Goose Story?

A bedtime story from dear old Mum,
nestled under the covers,
takes precedence over my earthly sum,
of money and wanton lovers.

If I could but bring her sweet smell,
and the soft caress of her hand,
Then all of Heaven I shall tell,
of the greatest things e’er found.

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 © 2014 John Allen Richter
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About johnallenrichter

I am an aspiring Poet and adorer of life, a conqueror of nothing. However I am a champion curator of truth and friendship and hold both of those things most dearly to my heart. Welcome to my mind's eye. I hope you will enjoy what you may find and please know that you have a friend here. View all posts by johnallenrichter

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