The sculptor’s sweat and his bold inspiration
are fading memories of my generation.
My children do not know about it.
They have forgotten the debt we owe.
I pass the sacred grove each day.
As decades pass, I wonder what I should do.
Those difficult times are fading away.
My friends don’t understand my regrets.
I wish I was not alone in my sorrow.
I wish I knew how to save the memory.
W. Wayne B.
Kindle poetry chapbook: Poems: Hope and Love
Follow me on Twitter: @williamwayneb