Beta
Whispers
Yes, I do remember it still; the soft sibilance of long-gone years; the chatter-cackle of kids, the rustle-rattle of wind in trees.
I remember, the shift-shuffle-smudged colours of years like wind-driven clouds of time scurrying by.
Stream's giggle-trickle-tumble on river rocks, chubby children's toes in cold, clear water.
Bright-eyed tots crouched on supple haunches wonderstruck by the sunlit glisten on sundew's whiskers, the hurry-scurry of ants, the bright colours of heath and the bursting, bubbly years of childhood.
I hear them still... as time compacts those long summer days into distant....
whispers.
Bright-eyed tots crouched on supple haunches wonderstruck by the sunlit glisten on sundew's whiskers
Peter Pullinger
Yes, I do remember it still; the soft sibilance of long-gone years; the chatter-cackle of kids, the rustle-rattle of wind in trees.
I remember, the shift-shuffle-smudged colours of years like wind-driven clouds of time scurrying by.
Stream's giggle-trickle-tumble on river rocks, chubby children's toes in cold, clear water.
Bright-eyed tots crouched on supple haunches wonderstruck by the sunlit glisten on sundew's whiskers, the hurry-scurry of ants, the bright colours of heath and the bursting, bubbly years of childhood.
I hear them still... as time compacts those long summer days into distant....
whispers.
Bright-eyed tots crouched on supple haunches wonderstruck by the sunlit glisten on sundew's whiskers
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