I Love to Write Poetry

Long forgotten,and overgrown.
In ages,nary a carriage wheel
has trod,nor foot touched this dirt hewn path.Stretching out to
hold the sky like a sapphire.
Winding between the ashen grey of each dismal branch.The faded permeation of a honeysuckle wind beckons the mind to summers past.
Where once was a multitude of grassy beds.Under the canvas of this night sky's silken pitch.
The sallow wood of a cabin,fallen
to antiquitous disrepair.Once full of vivacious,yet plain faces.
Abstained morality,yet determined virtuosity.Only returned for this moment,then forever washed away.