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Sunday Mornings

by Jennifer M. Ward 14 days ago in sad poetry · updated 5 days ago
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A poem for my father

Sunday Mornings
Photo by Léonard Cotte on Unsplash

Sunday mornings in Brooklyn,

we walked, side by side.

The sky was gold and azure blue

Softly blended like chalk pastels,

the sunrise’s afterglow.

Each quiet brownstone house

brightened by auburn rays.

Beautiful, like a work of art.

Like a picture we made once,

encased in a thick, glass frame.

It feels like another lifetime when,

the sun poured down on us like

a waterfall of happiness and hope.

I can almost taste the sweet lemonade,

and hear the stories you once told me

of your childhood.

sad poetry

About the author

Jennifer M. Ward

I was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY. I write contemporary fiction, nonfiction stories, and blog posts about life, books, and creativity. Connect with me on Twitter @jennwardwrites or find me here: https://jennifermarieward.com/

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