Lamplight through pinholes
painting perfect pictures presently
along the warm cedar planks.
Shimmering sap shining silently
bringing it to life.
The shingle roof
tacked together by tiny tin
nails that sing under the faithful drumming of
melancholy clouds.
Wandering wordlessly in windy wooshes
that play the leaves of the trees in woodwind concert.
Tea and a good book are the only two missing ingredients.
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Author:
Zemde (
Offline) - Published: September 15th, 2021 22:41
- Category: Nature
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: rebmasters
Offline)
Comments2
in the old days, we could run into red telephone booth's in the UK, to hide from the elements..
inside, maybe you're not alone
and maybe you've got some music to add
to the the physical intimacy of the moment and one half of an earphone, to share with your significant other
and maybe, while its minus temperatures outside, its sizzling hot inside
and your very breadth, exudes a heady fog of magnetic delight..
or maybe, that's all an imagined scene, but
still, it was a nice realm to visit even for a mirage, of fleeting Time...
(thanks for sharing, such a moody romantic depiction of the season, inspired me to reply a feeble scribble of my own)
Stunning - I admire the allure of your alliteration x
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