Blowing In The Wind
It was a windy day
in a windy city
a long time ago,
about fifty years, I think,
I forget exactly when.
A sudden flurry made me the vortex
and I was surrounded by sheets of paper
caught up and blown from a doorway.
When it had settled,
I collected a few.
They were letters
applying for jobs
dated about fifty years ago,
I forget exactly when.
All were hand written
in the most beautiful cursive scripts.
I could visualise the care with which
nibs had been dipped in ink,
the concentration in the touch of pen to paper.
These were the stuff of unknown dreams.
The names are long forgotten now
but I wonder what became of them,
those ghosts of a past
who touched my life
in a flurry of wind
only to be blown away.
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