Poetry

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POPPY TEARS

Parading in
sun-kissed gossamer gowns
Every flower laughing
as roses rest sweetly
Honeysuckles sleeping softly
against velvety greens
Lemon tea sipped lightly
long aquamarine shores
Where summer
once shimmied on air
Sepia images fade swiftly
Autumn’s last jaunt is unveiled.

Gallant suitors disappear
Swiftly along leaf strewn trails
November steps up
arriving late to the dance
Donned in silky crimson satin
bare-shouldered
Stepping cooly under
lace-fingered tree branches
Bypassing still whispers
on hushed windswept hills
‘This is my time,’
November sighs
amongst silent verdigris pines.

Swooning by silvery lakes
encircled by dull harvest gold
She weaves her way alone
trailing snow dust
carelessly in swirls
Willowy attendant-in-waiting
to a sparkling wintry bride
Her soft evening slippers whispering
She steps swiftly scattering petal after petal.

November sighs deeply
as windflowers on every hill
sun-spent and weary
are graced by her poppy tears.

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