Reflections staring into pool,
A pensive memory of joyous glee.
Those Sunday nights.
The blistering summer sunset.
The clatter of pots and pans.
The Sickly sweet aroma of dinner wafting out the window.
Oh how I long for those summer nights,
When father would rest his gaunt hands,
And his hardened face adorned a smile.
Oh how I long for the nights when the breeze whooshed.
Mother in the kitchen, a haze through the house.
I long to hear the music of her cooking.
I gaze out the window at the amber leaves.
I yearn for the nights when my parents would sit with me at the table,
not as parents but as equals.
And yet no one will understand,
how much those long summer nights meant to me.
Winter has settled in and I am at a loss yet again.
I sit in the October cold,
I can feel the warmth from those summer nights still.
I can see it clear as day.
Mother's bleak face warmed with an ostentatious smile.
I gaze at her goblet, occupied with crimson chardene.
Happiness radiates out of her like a heater.
Father with his mug of mead.
He gleefully grins.
Jokes are tossed back and fourth as if a tennis game were played.
There is so much I take for-granted,
And so little last so long.
Oh how I long for those summer nights and their warmth.
And yet no one will understand how much they mean to me.
I wrote this poem about the nights during the summer when me and my parents would hang out. It was just so much fun and I feel words can not do it justice. I tried my hardest to embody the happiness and the relaxation those great times gave to me. Those memories are the ones you look back on and cherish thirty years later.