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Apr 2018

words blur themselves
in the remote reaches
of the mind, verbs
and adjectives search
for voice in a tongue
captivated by ice,
flowering like the
newly blossoming sun.


with the frost
that winter
the winter’s silhouette the
ghost of the snow.


her voice a million
white leaves
learning how to melt
like a little snowman
wrapped in a warm,
red scarf.


the water breathes
its kiss of ice,

mirrors pressed to
the sky,
white hedgerows
with leaves
that shiver
gathering april's
weak sunlight,

framed like a
watercolour the
shadows of
midnight’s blue inks.


the lake ploughs
its bottle-like
greens, surrenders its
shimmering breath
to the waste land of
the sky.


love drifts with the seas
where the waves rush
past, a colossal stream
below the blue stars.
beth stclair
Written by
beth stclair  England
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