August 6, 2018

When I smell the crushed grass, green on my skin,

I am lost in the long-forgotten scent

Of childhood summers, and remember then,

Another self. I wonder where he went,

Boy in baggy khaki hand-me-down shorts,

The snake-buckle belt, grey socks at half-mast,

The wanderer of the...

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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