The Poet Community

Inter-Generations | A Poem by J. Ash Gamble

She takes my hand
and I think how lovely she
would be if I were not old
and furry.
She probably sees me
as a wily old curmudgeon
(who else but an old man
would use words like these?)
though I see her as
delicate lace and watch her
wisp away. Wisp away.

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