William Troup


A mellow breeze in a wishful sun

   fills waterfall flowers with honeybees

   where ageing grass, still young at heart,

   sways to music this autumn dreams.


      Sweet as honey and missed in seasons,

      the summer waves goodbye in peace.

         And what for fruitful hands today?

         Clammy, they’d be, away with spades.


A shallow river in the twilight sun

   brings hope to budding flowers of may

   where swathes of land, still rife with hope,

   sing in raindrops this autumn plays.


      Sour as lemon, yet yearned with reason;

      last winters madness is still yet to atone.

         And what for hopeful minds today?

         Busy, they’d be, in morrows ways.


Those swollen blue hands in the evening sun

   sees waterfall flowers with trees afar

   where times attritions, still young in regret,

   take no measure of our autumns jar!

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