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

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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!