Thursday, December 13, 2018

Grave Splendour...

The curlicue of liquid blue
Around the rocks that drew a laugh
From rivulets that spring begets
Are sealed in icy autograph
Where winter stills green-beaming hills
And draws a frigid curtain-close
Across the place where soft we trace
The echoes of the fallen rose
And learn anew the tried and true
Of how everything comes to pass
A bud that breaks and softly shakes
Its g-raven splendor to the grass

© Janet Martin

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you for your visit to this porch. Any thoughts you would like to share?