Sat among dried leaves
scattered through reeds of grass
giving a lie to winter skies,
survivors of icy blasts.
They release their bloom
near exhausted road side fumes,
shaking like ports in a storm,
their frieze bursts upon the dawn,
pale as February light when sunrise forms.
25 Feb 09
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hummm... j.g. let there be others .. brave enough after jermulie goeszon to read this... 1, 2 were a nice start... for me... after that the piece fell... it could be the a.m. though... 4 a.m. i have always felt... that every piece should have it's day or night... critiqued... even by a novice... at least you have heard something to chew on...j.g.
this poem is gay
Thank you most kindly Hank. Hope you are well and having a fine time
I strive for perfection but never achieve it. I think life is like that, chasing after dreams that dissolve before our eyes as we reach them
I hope it made you as happy and gay as snowdrops which dance like pretty little fairies underneath the toadstools at the bottom of my garden
Beautiful. I love your evocative poem almost as much as I love snowdrops. I like the way you take this away from the pastoral with line 6 and then bring us back to nature at the end.
Line 8 I particularly like this line, with clever use of "frieze".
I await daffodils with baited breath
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