I remember one midnight mass years ago.
A quaint old church some miles away.
Lantern in hand, our boots crunched in the wet grass.
Our laughter ringing clear in the empty country field.
And thereafter, as beech firewood burnt in the fireplace,
We toasted each other, and promised friendship forever.
Memories still waft through time’s mist.
I smile in my recollection.
This is lovely. You’re writing and therefore, you are a writer. And a good one! I’m enjoying your voice.
Thank you, Davita! So many other poems in the marathon have so much depth in them, mine feel shallow in comparison.