Pops of yellow paint a scene,
Bobbing heads on stalks of green.
Silent authors of stories yet to be spoken,
Inspire the pages of a heart awoken.
Dancing in the wind, caressing a child’s fingers,
Your beauty brief, but eternally lingers.
Mother of Spring, I know we soon will part,
Your wind scattered words, leave a stain upon my heart.
© Deborah Jackson March 2012
Beautiful poem!!
ReplyDeleteSo very sweet!!
xoxo
Thank You Debbie for your visit and for posting a comment :) This is the first time I've shared a poem on my blog so I was feeling a little vulnerable around it.
ReplyDeleteThe gathering of the Debbie's then *LOL*
ReplyDeleteI loved the spirit of the poem and how you'd written it.
Do you write much poetry? Somehow for me it is always more personal - I used to read some of mine at open mic sessions so I understand the vulnerable feeling.
Well done on the poem and the posting !!
Debbie -J
I love the spirit of the poem and the way you have written it.
ReplyDeletePoetry can seem more intimate than fiction - so I understand the vulnerable feeling.
Well done with the poem and for posting.
Debbie-J
Sorry for the duplication - first one glitched and disappeared. Reappeared along with the second attempt !!!
DeleteFeel free to delete one or the other - it won't seem to let me.
D