The when of a thing matters not much

But the where and the how of the soft silent touch

Shines like a beacon in a gale of force five

To aid in the course of staying alive.

For each time you pass the place of its birth

You'll remember for certain the value of worth

Like berries that grow at the edge of a field

Making in summer winter's memory yield.

It's like the smile of the strange passer by

That's passed to another without asking why.

Yes you'll remember the how of the thing

You'll remember the sound of its resonant ring.

But the when will pass quite quickly away

For it's not important what moment or day

Came what brought on the ending to strife

And opened your eyes to the meaning of life.

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cornaflakegrrrl's picture

Very well put! and the flow... begining to end so smoothly... Excellent!

Melissa Rives's picture

This is so meaningful and beautiful....the ending stanza summing it up so well! You are a wonderful poet!