yet another oldie

The return of the Underwood carriage


Dead leaves fail to cover what eons can't erase,
In every fissured tree I seem to see your face,
The salt sea breeze corrodes the statue that you made,
Years are flowing by but the bitterness won't fade.

The papers crumpled in the leaf-strewn hall
Express my inability, your essence to recall,
I try to concentrate as the Underwood returns,
But the words just keep on changing, as my vision blurs.


The end


I found a bunch of paper copies of poems I wrote in and before 1986. Most of them are embarrassingly bad. This one, maybe, is just bad. I did not have an Underwood, I had a Royal, but that just didn't sound right.