Rusty glass.

A while ago, I asked some of my friends to start a poem and they asked me to complete it as soon as possible.

This is one of the poems that was created that night which I edited recently.

~

Sitting near,
Where the river flows,
With a million broken pieces of glass…

Some of them
Cut through my skin
And change the tranquil colour of the grass.

I admire the picture,
That I have in my hand
It is now around six decades old

When, near this river,
Sat my old Pa with his “everything”
“There was no grass here back then”
So I have been told.

Six decades later,
Somebody my age, with their “everything”
Will be told about this grass
That magically changed it’s colour
When I touched the rusty glass.

The end.

26 thoughts on “Rusty glass.

      1. SE NON VUOI CHE LA GENTE COMMENTI IN POSITIVO IL TUO LAVORO ALLORA NON ADDANNARTI NEMMENO AD APRIRE UN BLOG E TIRATELA MENO CHE HAI PROBLEMI AL CERVELLO RIPETO I COMMENTI POSITIVI SI ACCETTANO NON SI RISPONDE COME HAI FATTO TU ODDIO PUOI FARLO IO SONO UN SIGNORE MA SE BECCHI QUELLO SBAGLIATO TI IMPILA DI NOME CARA LA MIA CARRUCOLA. STUDIA E IMPARA (MAGARI DAI FILM A VIVERE) E A INTERAGIRE CON LE PERSONE. E ADESSO SPARISCI AMO’ πŸ˜‚πŸ‘

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