and it was last summer

And it was the last summer,
twined, heat and stained,
the roses fell too full,
parched wing tips flew
lethargically across
an almost flawless sky.

She rolled up sleeves,
bent in shape to
to fashion withered
flowers in the draught,
a hundred thoughts and
more, as sore to bed she lay.

The penultimate day
bloomed, too shrill,
it promised killing.
The fields of honey hay,
lay in piles, waiting,
wondering for the
first spillage.

She soothed and smeared
cream, to base and neck,
flared her wares
on a worn chair,
the dark green, pale
beaten by the sun.
This was the penultimate day,
and tomorrow surely knew.

In the last summer,
the sound of dry streams
choked along in trickles,
thirst and famine,
her gamine charms,
lost in the dryness,
a Sahara wind of change.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 480 times
Written on 2011-07-20 at 21:43

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This has such a pleasing drifting, dreamy nature. I've read it many times since you posted it, each time I find more to like. It's very personal, but it seems we're invited in.
2011-07-21



I like the easy iambic rhythm of "the fields of honey hay" and the originality of "gamin charms."
2011-07-20