Return

Location

An old hideaway in the forest where old friends meet up occasionally and talk about how much fun they had together.
United States
On the fence again,
Where we both once sat,
I feel you,
And know you're near. 
I hear your feet,
Rustling the leaves as you walk,
Over to me,
And our old haunt. 
Just six months more,
You'll be gone.
Though now you're here,
I ask for no more. 
As we talk,
The trees grow,
Yet time itself,
Stops. 
This poem is about: 
Me
My community

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741