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Winter, dark brew: (1 Viewer)

dannyboy

Friends of WF
The tip of her tongue
a petal about to burst forth –
sound the alarm
I cannot hold these years!

Wilted stem, tired arms,
limp leaves drained
I wish my feet fit these boots
and I could walk into sunshine.

Distant mountains
sleep, dream; harbor
a mist as sweet
as mother’s last words.

Clouds gather, hold armfuls
of ready to dance snow
and the rose, bare now,
will return soon in colour and voice

calling me outside
into the damp earth of paradise –
I remember when the planet
held me still.
 

ritudimrinautiyal

Senior Member
The tip of her tongue
a petal about to burst forth –
sound the alarm
I cannot hold these years!

Wilted stem, tired arms,
limp leaves drained
I wish my feet fit these boots
and I could walk into sunshine.

Distant mountains
sleep, dream; harbor
a mist as sweet
as mother’s last words.

Clouds gather, hold armfuls
of ready to dance snow
and the rose, bare now,
will return soon in colour and voice

calling me outside
into the damp earth of paradise –
I remember when the planet
held me still.
Beautiful imagery Danny. I loved reading it.

Ritu
 

Darkkin

WF Veterans
By turns earth and wistful, a bit like the scent of lavender and fresh grass right after rain.
 
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