User Review( votes)
written by: Deb Rainer
15,000 steps states my wristband
as I take a Sunday stroll.
The scent of May blossom lingers.
Cow parsley a faint haze, fresh like a bride’s posy.
On the fringe of my memory,
half a century ago.
Plodding some Cotswold pathway to
of my grandfather’s youthful stride.
No measure of our distance
a dull ache in our limbs and a slowly growing horizon.
the hedgerow smells the same.