A languid grey overshot
The blank verse of the forbearing
As the lank branches gaped
At the roads of pertinence
Locked down in the attic
Were epiphanies of the genius
Overlooked and blotched
Approaching the moment
In the notes left behind
In ink, in oil and in in-conclusion
Damp tunes of that autumn
He dipped and dived
She waited for the right hour
He walked in parallel
She was perennial
No comments:
Post a Comment