Monday, 21 November 2011

Summer in April


Who is tending the flowers? Did you see-
 Helius buttercups, when razed to ground?
And daisies tip-toe over needles green?
This noble oak stood proud, with out-stretched boughs,
When darkest laurel rested leaves of wax,
Full-quenched; imposturous, no drop unspent.
No mercy to unfold or lend the waning
Bluebells; precious gems of tanzanite. Their
 last bow to unrelenting April sun.
Desiccated plane, an unmarked harbour
turned to dust, shaded by revelry. It
Cast out anchors of holly and ivy,
Running rings around a sunken relic
Returning it to earth as history.

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