from silken intervals of flesh
parting inevitable,
a vagrant blossom falls
upon a dusted road
the pink of a dying star
upon clad earth
brings no consolation
to icicles hung over
shallow grave,
filling the path to April
free winds follow
a creeping slope and
linger there,
can we remember the shade
and tulip bloom
cautious burning of butterfly
wing,
storms come in colored coats
indifferent to yesterday
pleasure not yet spoiled,
long fingers spread
over frozen labyrinths
iced buds squoze upon
the branches,
waxwing bows it’s head
brought by music
of a new chorus
winter will not be forgotten
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waxwing bows it’s head
brought by music
of a new chorus
winter will not be forgotten
Despite the cold, winter is still welcomed. There’s that nostalgic feelings around its presence! Wonderful take Chris! Merry Christmas and Happy holidays!
Hank
Thanks Hank all the best
Chris I really like this blog, and these poems.
Thank you for the support
nice….the icicles over the shallow grave make for a rather striking image…and the petal in the dirt as well…nice chris…
Again thank you Brian