Alicia at Number Three (I.P.)
By Silver Spun Sand
- 2813 reads
Trees vie to give her shade...
so soft and light her tread.
Red brick, trellised walls,
hung with feathery threads
of ‘Old-Man’s Beard’,
warm to her touch;
couch-grass – dew-damp
and cool beneath her feet,
as she wends her way.
Slowly, she stoops –
ejects a snail from a lily
in its terracotta pot
on the grey, gravel path –
alongside scented stocks
which grow in abundance;
her skirt – diaphanous
in a skittish wind.
A pink hollyhock
she cups in her hand;
mirrored in her eyes –
sheer magnificence.
A brief, upward glance –
sees a sparrow flit past;
disappear in the eaves
above her room, to feed
its brood... snug amongst
the rafters. A fingernail moon
peeks over the rooftops...
like the boy at Number Five
from his window,
at the girl with the sun
in her hair, drifting, barefoot,
through his mind.
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Comments
i'm blown away - simply
maisie Guess what? I'm still alive!
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Hi Tina, this is so magical,
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Your nature descriptions are
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new Silver-Spun-Sand Wow!
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wholeheartedly agree with
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it has all been said Tina,
ddf
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Love that first stanza,
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