Arlene Corwin Poetry

A cliché maybe,

For the multitudes have said it,

Yet,

One thinks it now and then,

In one way or another.

Situation, circumstance transport it to

The frontal lobe.

One probes the wardrobe of the brain

Where dreams have lain

And lie there still, so very still and quiet.

But today I chanced to see

A photograph of me

And chanced to say,

“Once I was young”.

It did not feel like cliché,

But fresh, revivifying

Memories I had not thought about,

Affections that now brought about

Sensations not particularly rosy –

But not jarring either.

More a nosy statement not opposing fact;

In fact, prosaic,

Dry.

I

Once

Was young

Not to

Be that again.

Do you

Experience that also?

^{Once I Was Young 7.23.2017}

^{Birth, Death & In Between II; Circling Round Aging;}

^{Arlene Corwin}