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from My Youth
Sweet remembrances…
Oh sweet remembrances.
And all I need for these,
Is a grain of sand, seagulls,
A song, or mellow breeze.
Sweet remembrances
Oh sweet remembrances.
And all I need for these,
Is a grain of sand, seagulls,
A song, or mellow breeze.
It Beckons
A Poem by Veronique Willett, Copyright 1976
I thought,
Perhaps,
To the trees,
The sap
Was
Soft, thender
Tear drops.
A Ship's Tale
Prose by Veronique Willett, 1982
Of Life (Part 2)
The cemetery, cold and bare, where no flowers lay, the young
man stood. "Rest in peace," he said. But the old man didn't
smile back.
"Is this is the end of living life to its fullest?" he asked. The
young man shook his head. Saddened, he turned away. "I
guess he finally got tired of life."
The old man kept silent, but he finally agreed.
What the Mirror Reflects
A Poem by Veronique Willett, Copyright 1984
But your arrogance belittles truth, in that, past hurt does not beget
hurt.
Alpha?
Beta? The beginning or
Can it be
Defined as the
End?
Filled with this
Gravity of doubt, I asked,
How can it be both or neither?
It's not the beginning, because it's past. It's
Just not the end, because it hasn't come. So where are we?
Kinds of puts doubts in your mind, doesn't it?
Like the question of another's friendship;
Many of said it was the beginning
No, I said it was the end.
Of course I could've been wrong... But
Probabilities showed I had fifty percent chance of answering
the
Question right.
Right?
Still, there's that question of doubt. Why?
To be or not to be? Where are we in time?
Unanswered problems,
Vacant stares in a
World of philosophical analysis.
X + Y = Z, Alpha + Omega = the middle?
You are here. Or, are you there?
Ziddle dee dee, who really cares? Surely, not me... ??
Weeping Willow
A Poem by Veronique Willett, Copyright 1982