Come Summer
By Silver Spun Sand
- 10099 reads
All winter long
I played the role
of feckless youth;
left alone in dusty fields –
stomping on all in my path;
the air, drier
than teasel heads –
thistles stab up
like a cobra’s fangs
through the stubble...nothing
is spared, not even poppies
that stare with eyes,
black as coal.
Only weeds
I tell myself, knowing
she would have said,
‘A weed is merely a flower
growing in the wrong place.
And then she springs up
right in front of me;
an aura of ambergris
cuts through the rippling
sea of meadow vetch,
hiding her face,
but I know it is she,
her feet scarcely touching
the ground, her hand,
beckoning...
a mother to her child,
and I am stilled
by the wonder.
Come summer –
this is all there is...
as she turns to leave –
a pale, lone sunflower
leaning with her.
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Comments
Hello Tina, You carry your
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It's always a moving read,
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"thistles stab up like a
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hmm... Moving indeed
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Haunting, Tina.
Parson Thru
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Tina, these words were put
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It's just wonderful the
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Wonderful stuff, Tina. As
TVR
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I should be so lucky, Tina.
TVR
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This has so much beauty and
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a poem that stays with
ddf
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Late as always these days
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Hi Tina, I've been so lazy
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