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Autumn Woodland.
Ice gowned fingers brush the day,
And paint diamond ribbons
Through the hedges.
Whilst in the silent mist draped, copse
Gold tears, cry down from the bough.
And the sorrowing scent of woodsmoke,
Rides on the air.
Where lip-red berries send a firery call,
From twisting stems, woven
Through the shades.
And all foot-fall is stilled, caught and held,
On cushioned paths.
Very poetic. Words of beauty.
Very poetic. Words of beauty.
Thank you so much, I always
Thank you so much, I always appreciate your comments, I regard your work very highly, so to have appreciative comments from you means a great deal to me. :-)
Gold tears, cry down from the
Gold tears, cry down from the bough.
And the sorrowing scent of woodsmoke,
Rides on the air.
I love the lines above.... 'gold tears' for life's bittersweet rejections, of which most times, man is defenseless against. The realities of our own inner acceptance of life on life's terms can be the most devastaing of realities to accept, and nothing but tears can wash the soul of sorrows to bring the coming rainbows for which we long.
~peace~
........................
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Gosh thats deep, thank you
Gosh thats deep, thank you for reading the verse and for your comment.
Absolutely lovely
Absolutely lovely
Thank you, very much. :)
Thank you, very much. :)
"And the sorrowing scent of
"And the sorrowing scent of woodsmoke, Rides on the air."
Loved the poem, love that line, nicely done.
Thank you :-)
Thank you :-)
Golden tears
Gold tears and boughs reek with unity and emotion - I see this wonder under Mother's direction ~~allets
Oh thats a coincidence, just
Oh thats a coincidence, just as I have finished reading several of your poems, you comment on one of mine :-) thank you.