The Question of Those Days
By Bill Connolly
What are we to say of those days of summer,
Years of summers ago when we were young –
What of the earliest leaves of autumn filched by the wind
Or the bankrupt skies and the sense of loss before anything
What of those faces smiling out of memory’s essential mirage
Or memory itself, randomly glowing with lamps, with ghosts?
What of life itself and the living illusion of life
And memory and life – and life in its days of unyielding
And what of the use of them all – wind, leaves, faces, loss –
What do we say when memory itself is unremembered?
BILL CONNOLLY, a native of the Buffalo area, now lives and writes in Hampton, Va., where he works as contract supervisor for the U.S. Air Force.