Young folk;
at the big ditch
at the big ditch
Sunning on the bank of the big ditch
they laid in the sun and talked
They were too young to be romantic
but true romantic they showed
He picked her white ripe dandelions ripe
white fuzzy domes she would blow
She would cool his brow when he sweat
her hanky dipped in the stream
Time to go yellow flowers he picked
bouquet for his sweet young friend
Hand in hand slowly they walked the mile
lingered by her door they part
His text on the way home, come morning
meet you at our corner, I'll carry books
_ _ _ _
Photo and Poem Copyright, 2018 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved
[Photo is my "PrintScreen" copy of Crepuscule by Heinrich Kuhn (1897)]
- I'm linked with Kerry O'Connor at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Camera FLASH! , http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/03/camera-flash.html
[Photo is my "PrintScreen" copy of Crepuscule by Heinrich Kuhn (1897)]
- I'm linked with Kerry O'Connor at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Camera FLASH! , http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/03/camera-flash.html
Hi Jim, what a sweet refreshing tale of young love. So pure and innocent....love it!
ReplyDeleteHow romantic - he'll carry her books! Lovely poem of young love.
ReplyDeleteThis took me back to my teens taking the long way home, lugging books, holding hands and spending as much time as possible with her....sigh!
ReplyDeleteThis is very sweet, Jim. Romance never gets old, though we do.
ReplyDeleteAww this is the sweetest poem ever!!💞
ReplyDeleteYoung love is lovely!
ReplyDeleteAnna :o]
So sweet.. and love the texting in the end... it moved me from past to present in an instant.
ReplyDeletehanky dipped in the stream :)
ReplyDeleteThanks, Margaret. :)
DeleteSweet. Love this Jim!
ReplyDelete