08-11-2013, 09:26 AM 
	
	
	
		The town is square and grey, an altar cloth
in open fields. A boulevard divides
the rising and the setting sun. The hill
which rooted Joseph's staff may not be here,
but Nature's sweets and idols are. A witch
I kissed one Summer's night is bearing bread
and stones. I watch her through a pub window.
Her rites are held in tree preserves, where love
and leaves are one with light, each soul a part
of Earth's design. I kissed her there, beneath
a stooping tree. She laughed and lost my name.
I walked to work the next morning with grief.
A fleeting lust, a sudden warmth, a tree
behind us, old and stooped; yet now this grey.
*The original thread and feedback can be found here
	
	
in open fields. A boulevard divides
the rising and the setting sun. The hill
which rooted Joseph's staff may not be here,
but Nature's sweets and idols are. A witch
I kissed one Summer's night is bearing bread
and stones. I watch her through a pub window.
Her rites are held in tree preserves, where love
and leaves are one with light, each soul a part
of Earth's design. I kissed her there, beneath
a stooping tree. She laughed and lost my name.
I walked to work the next morning with grief.
A fleeting lust, a sudden warmth, a tree
behind us, old and stooped; yet now this grey.
*The original thread and feedback can be found here
It could be worse
	

 

 

 excellent poem
 excellent poem
	




 Thank you for spotlighting this, Leanne, I'm flattered
 Thank you for spotlighting this, Leanne, I'm flattered 
	
