Pages

Saturday 25 June 2016

Postlip

The thin clouds, slide
At a real pace, across
The nights full moon

The flames, from the
Log fire, flicker, and glow
And again flicker, and glow

The music is of the East
Filled with evocations
Memories of lazy old love

The morning clock ticks
Slowly, and deliberately, looking
Down on the unlit table lamp

The light outside is breaking
Out of those depths of undiluted
Darkness that were clear, clear space

The kettle boils, it is time
For the first cup of tea of the day
Also to write, about past pleasantries


Available on Kindle