A white petal dangling from spider silk,
perfect, as thinnest flake of ivory
or nacre hung over nettle leaf tip
rocking, twisting, spinning to milk-white blur
in a Reepicheep breeze.
The very last
souvenir of unseasonal delight.*
Of the last tender Blackberry flower:
(a fairy decoration, a pendant
lost carelessly after decadence)
dear, deep emblem, con-art* instillation -
what you will, sheltering under nettles
from the will-be-rain, atomized freshness
that, ah, now dints down a drizzle-shower,
rushing me in to my studio mode.
And when sun gleams in upon my counting,
I rush back out in stockinged feet through wet
to find the nettle empty, petal gone -
retrieved I fancy - love-gift for the belle.
..................................
*Last petal in my garden ---but monthsmore of them here and there, found in wild that year.
*Con-art - coined by someone for 'Conceptual Art'.
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
