The rain spots softly mild October down;
and fingering breezes ruffle oat-grass tall;
these thorns stand candled in their yellow flame
beneath white skies, deep drama softening all.
Down memory's corridors I see you frown,
again withdraw your tenderness in blame,
that April afternoon inside your car,
struggling with that fate which flung us far.
And six months torture gone, a remnant now
slews in the slurry of an autumn drain;
and all the ironies have had their how,
and all love's bitter oils streaked in the rain.
I do not know how I have washed so clear
to offer up a plain, translucent tear.
YOU ARE READING
Gifts and Shards Vol 2
PoetryThis is the second and final volume of 'Gifts and Shards'. This takes us from the second month to now well over three years later, though there were many C poems in the collections tracking the seasons. There are no similar stories!
