The flowering of old love blossoms, in them born sweet Southern pollen. In the sprouting of timid new love, spores scatter and then accrue. The brumal haze of frigid midnights dwindle into warm Spring mornings, smothered in its sodden hue.
There, incarnadine is the rising Sun. Long last are the seeds we planted, orotund soil beds drenched in tears. Still, I till away the weeds, the roots, the stones, where writhen and written were your creeds and fears.
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Author:
coracaodacripta (
Offline) - Published: June 22nd, 2024 00:36
- Comment from author about the poem: Revelations of my first love.
- Category: Nature
- Views: 1
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