Word love

The words,

their words,

filled these  fleeting days~

Yeats and Cummings

and moons the size of

copper coins.

And every bit as bright.

Sitting at the waves

I watched a little girl play hopscotch

and thought back to

my girlhood

which  seemed only like a blink ago.

All the words are crowding into my mind again

words like boater hats and

old dusty poetry books~

daisies growing through the floorboards.

I hope they never end.

I love them
and only ever want to
speak of love.