Published Mon Aug 05, 2019 | Posted in Poetry | By Linda Jenkinson |
Kickapoo Creek is bare as bone.
Its bed has cracked.
Its springs have sprung.
Along the paths of Kickapoo Creek,
We walked when we were young.
Our hearts were filled with passion.
As along its banks we strolled.
Our words of love gushed forth enough
To last ‘til we grew old.
But now my bed is empty,
My bones too stiff and sore,
And I am far too weary,
To walk the paths of Kicakpoo Creek
That I walked once before.
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