Prompt: To write a sad poem, sonnet, using simple words
The Page That Blurs
No entries yet in this notebook;
this one for friendship.
To rearrange my outlook,
the pages I should not skip.
There are pages illustrated with flowers;
some with cups of tea.
And here and there a page that blurs.
This and that, memories —
of simple conversations.
Of hours, years and trust
and that which for a sister beckons,
and must surely be robust.
I simply walked into a moment untoward.
Oh, friendship book, can anything be restored?
Benita Kape © 4.4.2019
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