Poetry (Day 281): Days Gone By

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Days Gone By

 

Driving past.
The whack of bat
on ball. Men racing across
the green of the field.

A smattering of applause
from the five people
with their chairs set up
beneath the willow tree.

A ball in the air, red
against the clear blue sky.
Dropped. Snatched
from the turf and flung back in.

And then I’ve driven past
and the game is behind me.
A life that I once had.
Afternoons in the sun,
long ago.

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