Two Poems by Julianne Todd

31 Mar


There is nothing held so dear

as love.

If only it were hard to win the roses

that in yonder hedge appear,

outdo our garden bugs which bloom within.

But since the hand may pluck them everyday

unmarked they bud, blooms drop and drift away.


There is a typewriter that lies in the attic,

it is covered with gray little pieces of dust.

But if you move some boxes and some old stuff

you’ll find memoriees stacked away.

It is tiny and black as the darkest cave

but there lies many things in this typewriter.

Good memories, bad ones, sad one, and ones

tat will make you want to stay all day.

But alas we must leave for this typewriter must work,

it has many memories to type for us to remember forever.


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