True Love

Holding hands,

An elderly couple

Walks slowly through the park.

Like a bee hovering momentarily over flowers,

The couple stops now and then

To share comments about this and that,

Savoring the nectar,

Then moves on to the next attraction,

To the next blossom,

Unhurried, self-contained, free.

 

All around the couple,

Singles clutch their cell phones,

Ever impatient to be elsewhere.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

My Story

 

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