I lay awake tonight, allowing
Myself to remember
The smell of onion fields
And how they looked too,
Alongside the 4th fairway;
The taste of a sweet cigar,
And the feel of it --
The rolled paper, wetted
Against my lips,
As we stand on the 18th green
With fresh cut grass under bare feet,
And the setting sun in our eyes.
I am reminded,
Now some five years later,
That these things took time.
And even more so -- that their scarcity
Is what gives these things
Their meaning.
Myself to remember
The smell of onion fields
And how they looked too,
Alongside the 4th fairway;
The taste of a sweet cigar,
And the feel of it --
The rolled paper, wetted
Against my lips,
As we stand on the 18th green
With fresh cut grass under bare feet,
And the setting sun in our eyes.
I am reminded,
Now some five years later,
That these things took time.
And even more so -- that their scarcity
Is what gives these things
Their meaning.
2 comments:
The fondest of memories man...
Pity that their aren't more pictures of these memories, perhaps it's only fitting with the tune of this piece. Thank you friend, fantastic timing, as usual.
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