Simple Pleasures
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Amongst the daily bustle,
Her hair I do rustle;
Reminded of simple pleasures
That rest – forgotten.
Where did I lose
Those things that did rouse?
Those simple pleasures
That are soured and rotten.
My music, once consuming;
Now being empty and feuding.
Once of my simple pleasures
Now left – begotten.
Treasured feelings abroad
With hope, I do prod.
My simple pleasures arisen?
My hope heightens – less often.
©2002, Joe Jenkins

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