The saffron days slip beneath the eaves of our garden shed.
A bugle variegates past feelings
but do we necessarily have to linger,
when the forbidden fruit offered
tastes that sweeter,
innocence pauses as an
incongruous sound.
The frosted morning roof shimmers
to no avail,
gilded promises warm
the willingness newly acquired.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
The saffron days slip beneath the eaves of our garden shed.
A bugle variegates past feelings
but do we necessarily have to linger,
when the forbidden fruit offered
tastes that sweeter,
innocence pauses as an
incongruous sound.
The frosted morning roof shimmers
to no avail,
gilded promises warm
the willingness newly acquired.
Request permission to use this poem