Thursday, June 2, 2016

Someone--By Eleanor Michael--United States


The artist in me remembers
brown eyes in a tanned face
framed around with auburn curls.
But, I couldn’t paint you now.

The musician remembers rhythm,
snatches of melody, from songs
you sang – to which we danced –
but not the lyrics, not the words.

The wanderer remembers woodlands.
We walked among tall, green trees.
A creek wound through low hills—
in some park – near some town.

So much I do remember,
but to my shame –
today, for the life of me
I can’t recall your name.

Previously published in Poems of the World

Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.


  1. Beautifully written. A poem you would want to keep. Enjoyed immensely. Ralph

  2. Touching flow of simplicity and warmth. What a delightful poem. Thank you for sharing, Eleanor. Continued blessings!

    -MJ (

  3. Your flow of words so charmingly written. Thanks