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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