icy warmth of late August the wind has quenched the fires of ephemeral dandelions, beryl drops of blood trickle down the boughs, return to their invisible roots —
the cambric air is drenched in honeysuckle fragrance, stealthy leaves flavescent among the pink petals.
Teach me to number my days the way You number the hairs on my head, the way You are mindful of petals and sparrows as they fall with the leaves in the mist of autumn rain —
was it only this morning when my hair was in pigtails, as I dressed my dolls in pink dresses, dreamt of a fairytale prince upon a white stallion awaiting to take me to a castle hidden in emerald forests —
towards noon when I felt butterflies fluttering in clandestine chambers of my youthful heart, I met my first love and time was suspended, drowned in ivory clouds and endless blue oceans —
i can still feel the afternoon warmth when the children came and their laughter mingled with the melody of songbirds, the hum of restless cicadas —
at sunset my love and I rowed the silent rivers, built a bonfire upon the sand, held each other’s hand for warmth —
and now at twilight wrapped in the lavender glow, i treasure the dwindling vestiges of tender moments, the faint beloved song that will remain when evening falls.
You must be logged in to post a comment.