Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Misty Afternoons


Bright afternoons
cloaked in mist—
Like wisps of sorrow
that roll into the heart
in Spring,
Snaking across beds
of dewy roses
and fulgent dahlias,
To slumber in
the yew tree’s silence.
Happiness is an epidural—
A brief respite of light
in this ceaseless labour
To birth new selves
with each sunrise.