I was born in the south. I live in the south and will die in the south. This is only a small part of the memories I share.
Well, There You Are, Dear Friend of Mine
from season to season, you are always there,
Weather calm, fresh, and fair.
Raindrops tickle noses and children's funny poses.
But you, old friend, are not made to complain;
You can stand the rain, hide the pain, and still be our friend.
Newly-purchased two seasons ago, what a great day!
We played and tossed you around 'til an angry went down.
We laughed, we drank,we told stories, mostly of low pay.
Sometimes we'd point at you, beach ball, you're still around.
Age and time banded to see you hurt, maimed
But you fought so valiantly, never saying die.
Oh, beach ball, our soul of a friend, you're named.
Just let us remember you as we silently
I wondered the last time we packed up our car
If the sun would come out and happiness flow?
As the car moved toward home, we saw your star
Dear old beach ball, we'll hate it when you go.
This piece is not completely by the rhyme, but it is by
what I was feeling--depression, produced by a past
longing for an image or two to see without hurt or hate.
Maybe one more time to shake my high school friends' hands.
At the ending of the piece, I am no better or worse.
Just glad that this emotional moments are given down
And I hope to have a better piece next year.
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December 5, 2020________________________________________
© 2020 Kenneth Avery